Burned Out
by Wynn Herondale
Summary: "...He could have at least brought Scott and his crazy uncle. That's it, we're all going to die. We're going to perish here, in these foreign lands because we have insufficient backup. Derek Alpha Hale has failed us. They'll probably skin us and make things out of our flesh. Like hunting troph-" *S3 SPOILERS*
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: If I owned these characters do you think I'd be writing this right now? I own nothing except for what my fingers have derived from my brain, and typed out here for you.**

Light streamed into the darkness through slatted blinds, casting odd shadows and strips of light over the contents of the room. Stiles groaned, throwing an arm over his face,, shielding his eyes. He let his sleep deprived mind wander, not wanting to face the day ahead just yet. He hadn't been sleeping much lately. Not after what had happened, not after everything. He would wake during the night, drenched in sweat, heart racing, traces of a nightmare lingering in his consciousness. His best friend, Scott, wolfing out every full moon, he could handle. He couldn't handle the Argents trying to kill Scott. Or Jackson turning into a scaled creature by night, killing at the will of another. Him having to keep a man twice the size of him, paralyzed from the neck down, afloat for hours just hoping that help would turn up soon. Then being trapped in the sheriff's department with Scott, Scott's mom and his father, by a revenge-lusting teenager. Seeing the bloody, mauled body of the police officer at the front desk. Feeling helpless as his dad was savagely hit over the head, knocking him unconscious. The breaking point was when he was kidnapped. Brought to the Argent's basement to find Erica and Boyd restrained by electrified wires. When he was beaten senseless by Gerard Argent. Lying to his father about the bruises and split lip. Having Lydia, the girl of his dreams, come to him for comfort. Only to later confess her feelings for Jackson haven't changed. The one thing that always haunted him, was his mother's death. It may have happened years ago, but it still felt like yesterday. The empty feeling he'd get every morning, galloping down the stairs. There wasn't the mouth-watering scent of breakfast being made, or the soft humming of his mother's favorite melody floating through the morning's gloom. Everyone told him it wasn't his fault, he knew it wasn't his fault. He wished he believed it.

Stiles kicked the covers off of himself, glancing towards the faint red glow of his alarm clock. 6:50 a.m. He stared at the numbers, trying to estimate how much sleep he had actually gotten. He was up until about 3 a.m. the previous night, looking into a few strange disappearances and attacks in a town a few hours from Beacon Hills. They had been brought to his attention through his father. The county had contacted Beacon Hills Sheriff Department in hopes of getting some assistance. His father, of course, had put the inquiry at the bottom of his "important Sheriff-y things" to-do list. He recalled the last time he remembered glancing at his alarm clock, about 3:45 a.m. He estimated he got around three hours of sleep. Satisfied, he sat up on his bed and stretched his arms above his head, his spine cracking a few times. He stood up and went to his dresser, fumbling around for a fresh pair of boxers and a t-shirt, not caring what he picked.

"Might as well try and be a decent human being today," he mumbled as he ambled out into the hallway and into the bathroom.

Stiles leapt down the stairs fully dressed in faded gray jeans and a red plaid button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Yeah, it was summer. No, he didn't care. He took a sharp turn at the bottom and skidded to a halt in his kitchen, where his dad sat staring up at him with a half eaten apple in his hand.

"Is there a fire somewhere?" He asked raising an eyebrow. "Or are you really excited about waking up early on a Saturday?"

Stiles scratched his head and shuffled his feet beneath him, trying to come up with a reasonable answer. "Well," he started moving towards the refrigerator, yanking it open. He scanned the contents quickly, nothing immediately appealing to him. He swung the door shut and spun on his heel to face his dad. "Scott and I were thinking about going camping or something for a few days." His dad took another bite of his apple and chewed it contemplatively.

"Around here?" He scoffed. "You think that's a good idea?"

"No! No of course not. Uh-" Stiles hesitated, wracking his brain for plausible information. "A few hours up North. Yeah, Lydia's parents own a cabin and we thought we would go there, you know?" Stiles walked behind his dad and grabbed a banana off the counter, peeling it quickly. He took a bite, slowly chewed and swallowed, waiting for his father's reply so he could make a quick getaway.

"Lydia?" His father questioned. "You guys are friends? I thought there wasn't anything there."

Stiles took another bite of banana and sat in the chair next to his dad. "Well you know, she's friends with Allison and Scott is all over her." He paused, looking at his dad quizzically. "Does it matter?"

His father sighed and looked down at the table. "No, no. It doesn't. Who else is going? And how long are you planning on staying?" He took another bite of his apple, and threw the core in the trash behind him.

"Uh- well- Isaac," Stiles paused, thinking of people his father approved of. "Lydia probably asked Allison, and Scott asked Danny and a few other lacrosse players. We're only staying for a day or two."

"Alright," he replied, getting to his feet and heading out of the room. "I have to get to work. Be careful, leave your cell on and bring your charger." He disappeared around the corner and Stiles slumped in his chair, relieved his father believed it all.

His father's head peeked back around the corner, Stiles sat up and quirked an eyebrow. "No alcohol or drugs, either. I'll kick your ass personally," he threatened. He smiled and waved, heading out of the house. Stiles heard the engine of his cruiser turn over, and him speeding away.

It wasn't a complete lie. He was doing something this weekend. Maybe not with lacrosse players, or Isaac, or Lydia, or at her parent's cabin. Maybe not even up North, or with Scott... but those were just minor details, right?

**A/N: I have a basic idea of what I want to happen. When I first wrote this chapter, I had about -2 ideas. I wanted to write a SPN fic, the it turned into a Derek drabble and now we are here with Stiles? LOGIC. This is also my first fic. What in the world could Stiles be doing with his weekend? *winkwink***


	2. Chapter 2

The afternoon sun was unforgiving, shining brilliantly in a clear blue sky. Rays reflected off every surface, easily able to find a direct path into Stiles's eyes without fault. He was thankful for his sunglasses, black Ray ban Wayfarer's that he had borrowed from Scott months ago.

Stiles pulled into a parking space, putting the jeep in park and killing the engine. He grabbed his keys and slid out of his seat, heading towards the entrance of his local department store. He was in need of some essentials for his weekend excursion. He had most of the basic things at home: a lantern, a few flash lights, a sleeping bag, a radio and an outdated first-aid kit. He went through his list of things he needed as he reached the entrance. The cold air conditioned breeze of the department store was a welcoming greeting as he entered, removing his sunglasses and stashing them in his shirt pocket. He grabbed a cart and started on his shopping journey.

Stiles aimlessly paced the isles, pushing a cart that only contained marsh mellows, a case of 24 water bottles and a family sized bag of salt and vinegar chips. His thoughts kept tracking back to the case files he had absorbed for hours the previous night. No one had been grievously hurt yet, to the knowledge of the police department, but that didn't mean it wasn't going to happen. Or perhaps that one of the two missing persons weren't rotting away somewhere at this very moment. Stiles was jarred back into reality as he felt the cart shake beneath him and his name being called.

"Are you sleepwalking dude?" Scott teased, leaning over the end of the cart grinning, hands braced on the metal rungs. Stiles sighed and shook his head, shooting an annoyed _it's too early for this shit_ look Scott's way. "Did your dad leave dinner to you this weekend or something?" Scott questioned gesturing towards the contents of the cart. "Hey wait," he paused looking at Stiles's chest with his head tilted. "Aren't those mine? I've been looking for those!" He moved around the cart and quickly plucked the sunglasses from his friend's pocket.

"Come on dude, you don't even need them!" Stiles whined, reaching to take them back. Scott quickly unfolded them and slid them up his nose, smirking. "Fine, I don't want them anyway You'll regret your decision when the sun burns out my retina while I'm driving and crash into a tree!" Stiles huffed and began pushing his cart forward again. He remembered he needed batteries for his various devices he planned on bring with him this weekend. He headed towards the electronics section with Scott following close behind.

"So why are you here so early?" Scott said while flipping through albums a few steps away from Stiles.

"I thought I'd go shopping instead of my dad this week. Give him a break, you know?" Stiles answered, concentrating on remembering what type of batteries he needed. Scott starting laughing and Stiles stared him down. "What's so funny?" He asked, throwing a few packs of different battery types in his cart.

"For one, you're in electronics. Also I don't think your dad even _likes_ salt and vinegar chips." Scott said pointedly, strolling back over to Stiles.

"Do you have a thing for my dad now you creep? Why do you keep track of his favorite chip flavors? Maybe you should shop for him sometime." Stiles snapped His attention was directed behind Scott, where he suddenly realized Isaac was standing a few feet from him, shuffling through the exact albums Scott just had. He wondered if he had come here alone, or if Derek was here, or perhaps if he even had money to buy anything. Surely he had saved his money back when he was a grave digger. Stiles shivered, the kid still gave him the creeps. Whether he was a mutual friend, classmate, or teammate. He still radiated weird. Good looking, Stiles admitted to himself, but weird. Not the reasonable kind of weird either. Not the kind where you put your milk in the bowl before the cereal kind of weird. Or the kind where you prefer mustard with your fries instead of ketchup. Isaac was the I'll kidnap your first born son and feed him to my deranged kittens kind of weird. Or the kind where he would have a shrine in his closet and would chant odd things at it in tongues, in the dark, wearing a cloak while performing a blood sacrifice. Stiles knew his past, he knew what his father had done to him. He felt sorry for the kid, but that didn't change the bad vibes he got from him. Scott turned his head slightly, "hey Isaac, did you find what you were looking for?" He questioned, shifting his body sideways to look back at him.

Isaac sighed and scratched his head, walking towards Scott and Stiles. "Nah, I don't think they carry it here." Stiles drew his eyebrows together, squinting his eyes slightly. Scott and Isaac came here together. He hasn't seen Scott in weeks, and he's here with Isaac, casually browsing for some mystery product? Unacceptable, whether they were pack or not. "You alright there Stiles?" Isaac asked, drawing Stiles's attention back.

"Peachy," he replied with a tight smile. "But if you guys don't mind, I have some shopping to do."

"Wait," Scott said, placing a hand on the cart so Stiles couldn't move it. Stiles tried to pull it out of his grip anyway and failed. Damn Scott's super-wolf strength. "You never told me what you're here for."

"I'm heading North," he paused trying to decide how much information to give up. "Well, North-ish. Camping, in the woods, at night, with the scary werewolves. Just the norm, you know?" Isaac awkwardly shuffled his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. Scott shot Stiles a confused look.

"Alone?" Scott asked with an expression of disbelief. "Do you know how dangerous that is? We don't know what's out there, how far are you going?"

"Far enough," Stiles replied stepping backwards and shifting the cart around until Scott released it. He turned around and swiftly headed back towards the food isles.

Stiles climbed out of the Jeep, finally back at home. He quickly scurried to his door, wanting to make a quick meal, get his things together, shower and finally leave for the weekend. He pulled his keys out of his pocket, fumbling them around to find the correct one. In all reality he shouldn't even have this many keys. He somehow had accumulated about five extra keys for which he could no longer remember their use. As he slid the key into the lock, he heard the loud purr of an approaching vehicle's engine. He turned his head around just in time to see a sleek, midnight black Camaro pull up behind his Jeep. The windows were rolled up, tinted dark so he couldn't see inside. He was fairly certain that was illegal. He would definitely have to report this sucker's license plate number. The car was all angles and muscle, Stiles didn't like it at all. Well, at least he wouldn't admit to himself that he did. His Jeep was his baby, he couldn't just think about another mode of transportation like that. That was wrong. Someone got out of the drivers side and closed the door, striding around the car towards Stiles. Stiles squinted and shielded his eyes from the sun that completely haloed the male figure approaching him. When the man was close enough for Stiles to see, he felt like punching himself in the face. The man wore the same style sunglasses he had been earlier- must be a werewolf thing. Yes, the man emerging from the brilliant glow of the late afternoon sunlight was no other than Derek alpha-sour-wolf Hale. Stiles swallowed nervously and realized his body was still facing the door and his hand was still occupied by the key which was in the lock. He quickly swung his head back towards the door, unlocking it and shoving the keys in his pocket. He turned around just as Derek had reached him. Damn he was gorgeous. He was like Lydia status gorgeous, if not more attractive. In a totally different, manly way. With the dark scruff around his angular jaw line and his stupidly perfect hair. Derek's car actually suited him perfectly. Mysterious, dressed in black, with his tinted shades and his angular face. Not to mention his totally ripped body. He held this guy up in a pool for hours, He saw him soaking wet, clothes clinging to every bulge and dip of his body. Of course Stiles had taken notice, and mental photographs for later use. For scientific reasons only, obviously.

Derek cleared his throat, snapping Stiles out of his own world. He suddenly realized he was staring at Derek, with a dumbfounded look on his face. He quickly recovered his facial expression, quirking an eyebrow at Derek.

"Yes?" Stiles asked, looking past Derek staring at nothing in particular.

"Scott and Isaac mentioned you were going camping or something out North. I came to tell you you're not going." Derek stated matter-of-factually. Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but was immediately hushed by Derek. "No arguing, you're not going. You are Scott's friend, Scott is in my pack. That means if you get into trouble, Scott will start something and I will be responsible for him. I know what you're going out there for and it isn't something you can handle."

Stiles wasn't happy. He was already feeling his fingers curl into fists, nails biting into his palms. His mouth set in a tight line, eyes blazing at Derek. "You have no right to tell me what I can and can't do," he said coolly, trying not to let his anger show. "I didn't even tell Scott where I was going. This is me going camping _BY MYSELF_, because _I CAN_ and _I WANT_ to. If I get into trouble I'll deal with it myself. Contrary to popular belief, I can handle myself!" He threw emphasis into his words with flailing limbs. "Sometimes," he quickly added in almost a whisper.

Derek had his sour-wolf pout on,. He crossed his arms and took off his sunglasses, studying Stiles's face. Stiles suddenly felt antsy and insecure. He didn't like being stared at, scrutinized and judged by focused eyes. He shifted awkwardly, "like what you see? Take a picture, lasts longer." He instantly regretted saying that, How stupid could he be? That was utterly the lamest and most overused sentence that has ever escaped his lips.

Derek rolled his eyes and replaced his sunglasses to rest on the bridge of his nose. "I warned you Stiles, don't go. I'm not trying to insult you either. We don't want you to get hurt. Now promise me you won't go?" Derek tilted his head slightly, waiting for Stiles's reply.

Stiles's anger immediately dissipated when he heard Derek's confession. He had said '_we_ don't want you to get hurt' instead of '_Scott_ doesn't want you to get hurt'. Stiles was pretty sure that meant the big sour-wolf had some concern for Stiles's safety. He couldn't fight off the small smile that played at his lips. "I won't go North looking for trouble," Stiles replied. "I promise." Stiles made sure it sounded genuine, because it was. There was a loophole, of course. If you're into technicalities, which Stiles totally was. Who would go looking for trouble anyway? Not Stiles, no way. He was just simply going camping. If trouble happened to be there, he definitely wasn't looking for it.

That seemed to satisfy Derek, he nodded and turned on his heel, headed back to his Camaro. Stiles quickly opened his front door and slid inside, heading off to the kitchen with a new found bounce in his step.

**A/N: This took me awhile to write. I blame the trauma I have suffered from Monday's episode. Don't even get me started on the next episode, I totally am NOT looking forward to that. Although it will give me some good ideas... for future chapters... perhaps. (; Reviews would be nice at this point since I'm a noob and have no confidence in my work. I'd just like to know if it's decent, or if there's something wrong with my writing style I should tweak. Only helpful criticism please, suggestions are welcome too.**


	3. Chapter 3

"What do you want, Scott?" Stiles was sitting on his bed, freshly showered and dressed, with his cellphone tucked between his ear and shoulder. He was busy shoving the basics in a duffel bag: a few t-shirts, pants, shorts, boxers and lots of socks. He always over packed socks and t-shirts when going anywhere. You never knew when you'd accidentally step in a puddle, or, you know, need a quick wank and lacked tissues. However the t-shirt dilemma was always the worst. How was he supposed to know if it was a Captain America kind of day or perhaps Star Wars? Hell, for all he knew it could be an I-want-to-be-a-lumber-jack flannel kind of day.

"I just thought maybe I could come with you this weekend. I don't have plans. You know Allison isn't exactly talking to me right now."

"I'm not going to hold your hand just because your crazy, armed-and-dangerous girlfriend isn't talking to you."

"Come on dude, please?" Scott whined through the cell.

Stiles rolled his eyes and zipped up the duffel bag, throwing it by his bedroom door. "I already left." He knew he shouldn't lie, especially to his best friend. He just didn't want Scott to go, he wanted to do this alone. He wanted- needed- to prove himself once and for all. He was done being Robin to Scott's Batman. He couldn't pull off tights anyway. He may not have super-wolf strength, but he sure as hell was still a Stilinski and solving things was in his blood. Well, as long as Adderall was involved or else he'd probably wander off and nothing would ever get finished.

"Stiles."

"Scott."

"Window."

Stiles furrowed his brows, confused at the one word response. "Window? What-" Stiles looked towards his window instinctively, Scott was crouched on his sill outside. He huffed out a breath, throwing his phone on his bed and opening the window for Scott. "How long were you watching me? Do you have some sort of weird fetish?"

Scott smirked, closing Stiles's window behind him. "Not long, and no. But you are a liar."

"Sorry, did I hurt your wolfy feelings?" Stiles said pouting at Scott.

"Little bit. But hey, I brought stuff for the trip, I left it out front. I haven't mastered scaling buildings without hands yet." Scott crossed Stiles's room and headed down the stairs.

Stiles took a deep breath to calm himself and followed. He didn't know if inviting himself was a wolf thing, or if it was a trait Scott always had. He couldn't remember a situation anything like this to compare it to. If it were anytime before the bite, they would be going everywhere together. They spent their summer vacations attached at the hip. They were literally a package deal, the Doctor and his companion, King Arthur and Merlin, Spock and Kirk. They would stay at Stiles's and his mom would order them pizza and let them drink copious amounts of soda. She even let them stay up until they could no longer keep their eyes open. She would wake them up in the afternoon with mounds of pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage and whatever else she could whip up. After she passed, they would stay at Scott's house most of the time. Neither of them wanting to ruin their summer memories of Stiles's mom. They would do about the same at Scott's, except they would be alone. His mother always working late. Most teens would want to have a party or something social like that. They weren't exactly the social type, Stiles admittedly still isn't. They would play video games, watch movies, marathon television shows or just do their own thing separately but in each others company. They were basically brothers. Stiles missed the pre-wolf days, but there was no point dwelling on them.

Stiles slid to a stop before his front door, now knowing why Scott didn't just pack his things in the Jeep. Isaac stood smiling at him, a backpack slung over his shoulder. Stiles cursed Scott out in his head. He was a traitor, a filthy conniving traitor. Stiles mentally noted to kick his werewolf ass, pronto. "Isaac, hi," Stiles said, straining to keep his sudden Isaac hatred at bay. He would never admit it, but he was starting to get jealous. It seemed like Isaac had taken over Stiles's job as Scott's druid buddy who saved his ass constantly or Vulcan/human hybrid first officer. Scott was King Arthur and Captain Kirk, minus the Captain and King titles. There was no taking Stiles's glory in the sarcastic ass-saver department. Unless, of course, your name was Isaac 'look-at-my-brilliant-blue-eyes' Lahey, apparently.

"Hope you don't mind me tagging along." Isaac dropped his eyes to the floor. Stiles figured he caught on to the 'Isaac is not welcome' expression on his face and realized he probably shouldn't have come.

"I didn't know anyone was coming. The more the merrier, right? Hey! While we're at it, why don't we invite the whole crew? Anyone have Derek's number? I'll call Allison and Lydia!" Stiles was out of breath by the time he was done ranting. He realized he was waving his hands wildly about the place, and let them fall to his sides. Scott and Isaac stood shoulder-to-shoulder, just looking at Stiles like he was a strange creature that had emerged from the hardwood floors beneath his feet.

Scott spoke up first. "I don't think Derek's the camping type. Especially in a small Jeep with three teenage boys."

"I have his number if you still want to call him," Isaac chimed in. Stiles couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or serious. He could deal sarcasm like a major league sass master, but when it came to deciphering it, he was a lost cause. Stiles just stared at Isaac, wide-eyed and mouth ajar. He can't be serious, there was no way anyone could know Stiles liked Derek. He didn't even know he liked Derek, until he thought about it. Yes Derek was about as cuddly as a starved mountain lion covered in thorns, but he had appealing characteristics. He was loyal and motivated. Stiles could tell he cared for his pack, even with his permanently etched on scowl and unwavering solid emotional barrier. At least this is what Stiles liked to think. Even if he didn't vocalize it, Derek was totally grateful for Stiles holding him afloat for hours, even if he did let him sink to the bottom at one point. It wasn't his fault he had a flimsy excuse of a body that grew tired of holding up a large, heavily muscled figure. "I was kidding. Unless.." Isaac trailed off, noticing Stiles was off adventuring in his mind.

Stiles snapped his mouth closed and turned around, heading back upstairs. "Going to get my bag, put your shit in the Jeep and let's go," He went in his room and closed the door, a little bit too hard. He scanned over his room, looking for things he didn't want to leave behind. "The file!" He exclaimed, slapping himself on the forehead. He couldn't believe he had actually almost forgotten to pack the one thing he was leaving town for. He took the manilla folder packed with police reports, photos and news clippings and shoved it in his duffel bag along with his clothes. He mentally listed the things he needed and checked them off as he went. Phone charger? Check. Medication? Check. Clothes? Check. He had already put the bag that contained flashlights, a radio and a first-aid kit in the Jeep. He threw the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder, scanning the room one more time before finally bounding down the stairs to the Jeep, making sure to lock his front door on the way out.

The sound of tires hissing against pavement filled the space around them on the freeway, drowning out the music on the radio. Stiles drummed his fingers on the steering wheel along with the soft music. They've been driving for a little over an hour and Stiles was getting restless. Scott was in the passenger seat, his face illuminated by the light from his phone. He was grinning like a fool, so Stiles figured he was drooling over a picture of Allison or writing her sickening love poems. Isaac laid stretched out in the back, his head resting on a rolled up sleeping bag. He was snoring softly, as he had been for just about the entire ride. Stiles wasn't sure if super-wolf hearing powers worked while they were sleeping so he stayed quiet, trying to figure out how to ask Scott if he'd been replaced. Stiles saw a sign for a rest stop and decided to pull in to stretch a bit and maybe consume a lot of sugar. The parking lot was strangely dark, perhaps because he parked under a broken lamp.

"Should we wake Isaac?," Stiles whispered to Scott, unbuckling himself.

"Let him sleep, we can grab him something."

They got out of the Jeep, Stiles locking the doors behind him. He may not want Isaac to be here right now, but this parking lot was just down right creepy. He didn't need to come back to find a dirty old trucker panting over Isaac's pretty face like a creep. Stiles silently wondered if he should have cracked a window. They say to never leave a dog in a car, even if you're just running in somewhere. Does that rule apply to werewolves? He stashed that thought away in his 'things to Google' folder and carried on towards the entrance. Right as they walked in, Sties saw those beautiful golden arches. Such a glorious sight before his eyes: a 24-hour McDonald's. His face lit up and he looked over at Scott, whose expression mirrored his own.

"Order the usual dude, I have to release some fluids," Stiles said, hurrying towards the mens bathroom. He kicked himself in the ass for not going before he left, but he had been busy. If busy meant seriously pissed off.

He finished up and washed his hands, making his way back to where Scott stood, waiting for their order. "40 chicken McNuggets with two vanillas shakes, a chocolate and three large fries!" The short cashier said, louder than necessary. Stiles screwed his face up at the mention of vanilla shakes. Who even likes vanilla? It's the most boring flavor of them all. Stiles grabbed the bag of food, leaving the drink tray to Scott. He wasn't aloud to hold the drink tray after a certain incident involving chocolate shakes and Scott's white shorts. It wasn't his fault, the ground was uneven and Scott's lap just decided to catch the drinks.

As they approached the Jeep, Scott's phone starting ringing. He glanced at the screen, "it's my mom, take these." He handed the drink tray over to Stiles and turned around, headed back where they came from. Stiles continued towards the Jeep, concentrating on not dropping anything. He banged his foot against the Jeep door to wake Isaac up so he could open the door. He could always put the bag on the hood of his car, but that thought totally blew straight over his head and into the summer's night. He kicked the door again, harder this time. Not too hard, he didn't want to hurt his precious. Isaac sat bolt upright this time. His eyes wide open and unfocused, roaming over his surroundings. Stiles could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat beads glistening on his forehead. He had no idea what was going on, he could only stare . Isaac clamped clenched fists over his ears and tightly closed his eyes. A few seconds later he began rocking slowly back and forth. Stiles snapped out of his daze and quickly placed what he was holding on the hood, unlocking the Jeep door and opening it.

"No... no... please. I- I didn't mean it. No..." Isaac quietly murmured to himself repeatedly.

"Isaac," Stiles said tentatively. "No what? What are you-" It finally dawned on him. Scott told him the stories. How him and Derek had found a freezer in Isaac's basement with claw marks leading to it. It had a padlock on it and the inside distorted by dents and claw marks. His father punished him by locking him in it. He suddenly felt terrible for actually hating Isaac and he finally understood why Scott was hanging out with him lately. Since Boyd and Erica disappeared, this kid had no one. He had Derek, but as mentioned prior, Derek was as cuddly as a starved mountain lion covered in thorns. Everyone at school passed judgment on him as the weird gravedigger kid, just like Stiles had done.

"Isaac," Stiles said hesitantly. He knew certain emotions could trigger a werewolf to shift, and that is something he would love to avoid. The main reason being they were in public, even if it was dark. Also, he didn't want to get his face torn off and blood all over his upholstery. Stiles carefully climbed into his seat, leaning into the back towards Isaac's cowering form. Stiles reached out and placed his left hand on Isaac's knee, supporting himself against his seat with his right. Suddenly Isaac was moving, too fast for Stiles to react. He felt a clammy palm trapping his hand. A sharp searing pain radiated warmth over the nape of his neck, causing him to go rigid and hold his breath. He felt light headed, pressure building within his skull. His ears were ringing, vision starting to turn to a muddled gray around the edges. He could feel his body being pulled towards the back, the pain in his neck injecting deeper. He tried to fight back, move his arms and legs. Nothing was working. The collar of his shirt wet and sticky against his skin He was vaguely aware of a low growling before his vision completely faded to black.

Glares of blistering light danced against his eyelids. His body felt heavy, weighed down as if anchored by wet cement. His eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjust. His vision is still foggy, as if his eyes had a thin milky film laid over them. His head was swimming, pressure still present behind his eyes causing his ears to ring. He took a deep breath, willing the pressure to dissipate. He was vaguely aware of a voice, frantic and yelling. He couldn't make out who it is or what was being said. His vision cleared slightly, but something was still off. He didn't know what was wrong or why, but everything just felt wrong. It didn't feel like reality, almost dream-like.

He focused on the face sitting at the table across from him. He wasn't sure when he'd sit down or even how he sat down. He realized the yelling he heard wasn't frantic, it was enraged. The man's pinched face was flush with exertion. "This isn't the right fuse!" The man yelled, throwing a small package on the table. "I gave you the blown fuse so you couldn't fuck this up, but somehow YOU STILL MANAGED IT." His fists pounded on the table, causing Stiles to flinch and sink back further into his seat. His motions didn't feel right. They felt as if he were moving in slow motion, or flailing uselessly underwater. He felt as if he were drowning in his own body.

"The guy told me-" he said quickly, except it wasn't his own voice. He started panicking, clueless as to what was going on. He tried to scream, tried to reach out or lift himself from the chair- he couldn't.

"I DON'T CARE! You do as I tell you, Isaac. It's that SIMPLE."The man interrupted, rising to his feet. Stiles understood, he was reliving a memory of Isaac's or perhaps a nightmare. He was sure there wasn't much of a difference when it came to memories of his father's anger. He didn't know how such a thing could happen causing his fear to deepen.

"I'm sorry. I- I can fix this. I can bring it-"

"No," the man's voice thundered. "You're completely fucking useless. You can't even pick up the EXACT fuse I asked for with the broken one in your damn hand. Camden wouldn't have needed the broken one and still would have got it right!" Isaac's father headed towards him, his hands in tight fists at his sides. Stiles felt his back hit a wall as Isaac tried to escape his father's looming figure, dragging him along for the ride. Stiles's chest tightened, his stomach in knots with fear. He didn't know if the fear was his own. He didn't know if he could actually feel what Isaac was or if it was his own reaction. Isaac's father flung the chair Stiles had been sitting in towards him. He crouched over, trying to shield himself from the blow. He felt the wood of the chair connect with his cheekbone, a sharp pain with a dull thud. His hands flew up to his face as he looked up at Isaac's father, who was now backing away from him. "Why do you always push me this far? Why did you have to make me do this?"

"I don't," Isaac's voice choked out, full of emotion.

His father just stared at him, jaw clenched tight. "That's it, get down there." Stiles's heart rate suddenly increased, pounding against his ribs. He felt nauseous and faint, a cold sweat starting to form on his forehead. He didn't know where 'down there' was, but his body was reacting negatively. He assumed Isaac had complete control over all movement and emotion.

He felt his head shake from side to side, "n-no, no please. I can f-fix this just don't-" Isaac's father started towards him again, Stiles scrambled over the fallen chair towards a door in the next room. He could barely walk, his knees felt as if they'd give out in seconds. He reached a shaking hand towards the door knob, opening the door to reveal a darkened descending staircase. He heard heavy footsteps behind him as he stepped over the threshold, flipping the light switch on. Light flooded the room, revealing a musty, disheveled basement. He slowly walked down the stairs, hoping his knees would support him until he hit solid ground. As he reached the last step, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He froze at the touch, trying to squirm away from it as if it burned his skin. The hand shoved him, sending him tumbling to his knees. He frantically tried to find purchase on the dusty floor to push himself away. He was too slow. He couldn't breathe, he could feel his clothes sticking to him where sweat gathered. A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and forearm, dragging him towards a great white freezer, the only thing he could see without dust on it. The freezer had a padlock on it, a key already inserted. He knew what was happening now. This is exactly what Scott had described to him. Stiles tried to pull his arm out of Isaac's dad's iron grip, resulting in nails being dug into his skin. He was whimpering now, choking down tears as he clawed at the ground, trying anything to get away.

"If you keep struggling I'll leave you in longer," Isaac's dad said between grunts. Stiles felt his body go limp, Isaac suddenly giving up at the threat. His father unlocked the freezer, throwing the lid open. Stiles felt himself shakily get to his feet and walk towards the freezer. He was horrified. When Scott told him the stories, he couldn't imagine this. This was inhumane and extremely cruel. He wondered why Isaac didn't report his father. He would be an orphan, but at least he wouldn't have to go through this.

Stiles felt himself being roughly pushed into the freezer, he curled in on himself willing his mind to go to a safe place as darkness enveloped him. He heard the padlock being slid into place, locked until who knows when. Footsteps faded away from him, and up the stairs. He was in absolute silence. He could hear only his own ragged breathing and a distant car passing outside every few minutes.

He didn't know how much time had passed. It could have been minutes, but it felt like forever. The air was stale and humid. Freezers are supposed to keep cool air in, meaning it was created to be airtight. He started panicking, feeling as if his sudden realization had drained all the oxygen from the container. He ran his fingers over the sides of the freezer, feeling dents and scratch marks. He needed to get out. He was certain he was suffocating now, his lungs burning with each deep breath. He bent his knees to his chest and laid on the bottom of the freezer, fists pounding against the top. It wasn't working, he needed to get out. He kicked out at the lid, praying for it to give or to at least let air in. He kicked harder, pounding frantically at the lid, screams ripping out of his throat.

He didn't know how long he had been flailing in the small space, but his throat felt torn to shreds, he was unable to scream anymore. He could feel his fists beginning to bruise, his arm and leg muscles burning from exertion. He collapsed into himself, sobbing silently. Warm tears streaked down his sweat drenched face. His breathing slowed. He could feel his thoughts becoming sluggish, his head felt as if it were filled with cobwebs. He eventually drifted off into unconsciousness.

**A/N: Am I allowed to leave cliff hangers like that? I hope the last part isn't confusing, I tried my best to explain it how I wanted it to be perceived. I had to re-write it a few times, my tenses were all over the place. If you don't know who Camden is, he's Isaac's older brother who was killed in combat. I actually finished this last night, right after Motel California. Or should I say Motel let's-kill-the-fandom-with-feels? It was horrific but BRILLIANTLY done. I've been listening to the In Currents album by The Early November while writing this so I blame that for any sadness shining through in my writing. Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter, also! They actually helped and made me change up the story line a bit (for the better I hope?) **


	4. Chapter 4

****Season 3 spoilers ahea**d**

Stiles yawned and stretched his arms, trying to get away from the mass at his side that was radiating heat. He was cramped and uncomfortable but far too tired to give it much thought. No, tired wasn't the word for it. He was far too well rested, his head was groggy and body heavy. He didn't want to open his eyes, but he was starting to sweat and his leg muscles starting to knot. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly against the blinding morning sun. He was in the back of his Jeep, curled around a backpack.

He rolled to his back, half laying on Scott who was sound asleep next to him, mouth slightly ajar. Stiles propped himself up using his left arm, feeling a slight twinge of pain in his hand. He looked down to see four band-aids laying parallel to each other on the back of his palm. Each soaked through with now dried blood, barely sticking to his skin. Slightly confused, he concentrated on what he remembered happening last night.

Scott and Isaac showed up at his house. They left, drove for a stupid amount of time, then pulled into a rest stop. Isaac was asleep, Scott and Stiles went to get food. They came out, Scott got a phone call. Stiles went back to the Jeep and woke up Isaac. It came to his attention the last thing he remembered was touching Isaac, then pain. His uninjured hand shot up to the back of his neck where he remembered the sharp stab of pain being followed by spreading warmth. His fingers brushed over a large area covered by what felt like medical tape and gauze. He put slight pressure on the area, wincing when the tape pulled at his apparent wounds. Isaac had totally wolfed out on him. He was going to kill him.

He frantically began pulling at his clothes, looking for more injuries. When he was satisfied he wasn't torn to ribbons and being held together with tape, he relaxed. He looked into the front seat expecting to find a sleeping Isaac who wouldn't be sleeping much longer. Stiles was going to have a nice long talk with this damn wolf about his manners. When he found the seat empty, aside from crumbled McDonald's bags, he scowled and nudged Scott with his foot. He groaned and stirred before his breathing evened out and he was once again sleeping. Stiles sighed, annoyed with his friend's lack of concern. What if Isaac was trying to rip Stiles's throat out at this very moment? Admittedly he would more than likely be screeching like a little girl, but that wasn't the point.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. He had no idea if this had any effect on werewolves, but he'd sure as hell try. He'd downloaded a dog whistle app a few weeks ago, planning on using it against Scott somehow. This was the perfect moment to try it out. He frowned down at his phone as the screen lit up, he had a missed call from his dad and only had 10% battery life left. Good thing he remembered his charger, his dad will lock him up in a cell if he didn't get back to him soon.

He started up the app and put his phone as close to Scott as he could get without waking him. He pressed the button and felt his phone vibrate, indicating the whistle was working although he could only hear an odd buzzing sound.

Scott flung his arm up straight into Stiles's forearm, causing his phone to fly out of his hand and crash into the roof, finally landing on the floor between them. Stiles backed up against the far side of his Jeep quickly, startled by Scott's reaction. His eyes were wide and flashed bright gold as he sat up scrambling to grab the phone and tear the battery out.

"What the hell Stiles?" Scott panted, his eyes their normal shade of brown. "I could have torn your fucking eyes out!"

Stiles swallowed and scooted back next to Scott before answering, "maybe if you would have woken up I wouldn't of had to take drastic measures. Plus I was curious, you know, just wanted to see if it worked."

Scott rolled his eyes, "stop trying stupid shit, you're going to get yourself killed. Haven't you had enough werewolf fun for a few months?" Scott nodded towards Stiles's hand, making a disgusted face at the dried blood. "You should probably change those, infections are nasty. You could probably lose your hand from a bad one."

Stiles's eyes widened as he glanced down at his hand. "Infection? Why would I get an infection. What type of infection? Why would I lose my hand? Oh god, I'm going to lose my hand aren't I? Why would you tell me something like that!" Stiles started fumbling through his bags, looking for the first-aid kit he brought. He couldn't be known as the one-handed man, Stump Stilinski or Hand Solo. He had to admit, being called Hand Solo wouldn't be too terrible.

Stiles looked up from his scavenger hunt to see a big, goofy grin plastered across Scott's face. He was probably laughing at the image of a one-handed Stiles trying to play lacrosse. His lacrosse career was now over, most certainly. It had just started, and it completely crumbled away just like that.

"Stiles you look like you're about to throw up, chill out. You're not going to lose your hand. I was joking."

"How do you know! Are you some sort of part time doctor? Infection Inspector?!"

"I do work at an animal clinic."

"DO I LOOK LIKE AN ANIMAL TO YOU SCOTT?"

"Do you want me to answer that truthfully?"

"Fuck you buddy. Fuck you and your stupid..." Stiles paused trying to think of something insulting to say to his friend but he was blinded by his anger. "Hair." Stiles spotted the first-aid kit next to Scott. He grabbed it and opened his trunk, jumping out onto a empty parking lot. Dust billowed up around his shoes as he turned in a circle, taking in his surroundings.

They were parked in a small clearing in the middle of a forest. Trees of varying thicknesses loomed into the cloudless sky. He could see a dirt road which was overgrown with plants, indicating they were the only ones to come out here for awhile.

That's understandable with all that has been going on. If he were your average everyday person, he would stray away from forests when there were reports of animal attacks and missing persons. He, of course, was not your everyday person. He was Stiles Stilinski, best friend to a werewolf, classmate of a former giant homicidal lizard, investigator and sarcasm extraordinaire.

He could hear Scott still laughing at his outburst as he sat back down on his Jeep. He squinted against the sun and looked out into the trees. He thought he could see something shimmering in the distance, but he wasn't sure. He opened the first-aid kit on his lap, taking out more gauze and medical tape. A book of matches fell out onto the ground. He picked them up and shoved them in his back pocket.

"Hand me a water bottle?" Stiles slowly peeled the band-aids off the back of his hand, expecting the worst. Scott sat beside him and placed a water bottle between them. "Where's Isaac?"

"I think he went home, he was pretty upset and didn't want to cause anymore problems," Scott answered.

"Good, what the hell is his problem? Does he not know how to control himself? I thought Derek had trained his damn betas. I'm going to have to have a word with him."

Scott stared at Stiles with a look of disbelief. He didn't like that look, that look meant he said something wrong. He didn't know what he could have possibly said wrong, other than talking to Derek. How was talking to Derek wrong?

"Wait, he went home? How did he get home? Was Derek here?"

"No, Derek wasn't here."

"Then what? Did he run barefoot through the forest, wind whipping through his hair like the flower child he is?"

"I don't think he was barefoot, Stiles. What the hell is a flower child?"

Stiles threw his blood crusted band-aid's in a stray bag he found in his trunk. He opened the water bottle and dumped it over his hand, unsuccessfully trying to wash away the dried blood.

"A hippie, obviously. Do you live under a damn rock?"

He took some gauze and wet it, gingerly wiping at his wounds. There were four long scratch marks along the back of his hand, crossing the tendons diagonally. They were deepest by his thumb and forefinger trailing off and getting shallower towards his wrist.

Scott grimaced at Stiles's hand. "Do you remember anything?"

Stiles wrapped his hand in gauze, securing it in place with tape. He concentrated on remembering what happened again, starting from when he woke Isaac up. "I remember you getting a call and giving me the drink tray. I went to the Jeep and kicked my door until Isaac woke up..." His eyes followed a squirrel scurrying up a tree and leaping across branches.

"And?"

"I don't know, something was off with him so I put the stuff on my hood. Then I opened the door myself and climbed in. He was..." Stiles paused and looked up at Scott. "Oh my god, how could I forget! He was whispering something to himself, 'no' or 'stop' I don't remember exactly. He was sleeping, I startled him and he must have thought someone was going to hurt him. He looked so scared. That caused him to shift, didn't it? I don't remember much after that, only a sharp pain on the back of my neck then darkness."

"That's all you remember? Darkness?"

"Yes, Scott, darkness."

xxx

When it came time to eat lunch, they didn't have many choices. They could simply eat what Stiles had bought specifically for this trip, junk food, or they could hit the local diner. They chose the latter, taking the overgrown path through the forest a few miles back to paved roads.

On their way through the tiny town, they only spotted one traffic light. The roads were mostly clear, along with the sidewalks. Most of the houses they passed had overgrown lawns with crooked fences, shutters drawn shut against the windows. It reminded Stiles of a creepy ghost town, he'd imagine driving through Silent Hill would feel something like this. With more ash, fog and horrible creatures, of course.

He used to love scary movies until his life became one. He was scared- petrified even- of the fictitious creatures he had once adored on film. He feared they would somehow become his reality. No longer the conjuration of his mind, his very own demons rising to the surface to drag him under.

The Jeep pulled to a stop outside an old, squat building with an open sign hanging in the door. Red bricks were peeking through chipping, yellowing white paint. Fastened to the wall below a row of windows was a faded sign that read '98 Diner'.

A bell welcomed them as they entered, the smell of mouth watering, greasy food and coffee swirling around. Stiles immediately headed for a booth near a window, Scott following his lead.

A tall brunette waitress met them at their booth, laying menus in front of them. She was young, probably in her late 20's. She was wearing a short yellow dress with a white apron. Stiles thought she was pretty, but too old and not really his type. His type was about 5'3", strawberry blonde, in love with a lizard turned werewolf and way too far out of his league.

"My name's Kali, I'll be serving you today. Can I get you two anything to drink?" She asked, taking a small notepad and pen from her apron pocket.

"I'll take Pepsi, thanks," Scott replied, flipping through the menu.

Stiles made a disgusted face in Scott's direction and turned to the waitress. "Do you perchance sell ice cream sodas here?"

"Of course we do, what kind would you like sweetie?"

Stiles couldn't help but smile, "Root beer with vanilla, two scoops."

"Alright, do you know what you want to order or would you like some time?"

Stiles flipped through the menu searching for the burger section. He quickly scanned it and looked up at the waitress confused. "Pizza burger? I don't know what it is, but I want it. Pizza burger with a side of curly fries, please."

"Same for me," Scott said, tossing his menu on the table.

xxx

Stiles had to get away from Scott. He needed to investigate what was happening around here, and his friend most definitely wouldn't approve. Even if he would approve, Stiles wanted to do this on his own.

"How long are we staying out here?" Scott asked, throwing pebbles into the lake they were sitting by.

"I didn't ask you to come, Scott. You can leave whenever." Stiles was sitting on a nearby boulder, watching the ripples radiate the spots where Scott's pebbles landed in the water.

Scott looked back at Stiles, "dude, what's you problem? I just wanted to go camping with my friend. We never do anything together anymore."

"I just wanted some time alone. I needed to get away after everything, can't you understand that?"

"You don't want to talk about it?"

"How long have we been friends? I'm not the type to talk about feelings."

Scott dropped the rest of the pebbles he held and stood in front of Stiles. "Alright, I get it. Just be careful out here." He started off back into the dense trees, heading towards the Jeep.

Stiles dropped his gaze to the ground. "Where are you going?"

"Home," Scott called behind him.

Stiles got to his feet, sneakers skidding slightly on the loose gravel, and followed Scott. "How?" He questioned, picking his way over protruding tree roots and fallen branches. It was times like there he wished he had werewolf powers the most. He was exceptionally clumsy and could use the help with balance.

"I'll get a ride, don't worry about it," Scott said, now perched on the hood of the Jeep with his cellphone out.

Stiles came clambering out of the trees, nearly falling face first as his shoe caught a stray vine. He steadied himself and glared up at Scott. "Dude you're going to dent it! And who do you expect to come get you this far out?"

Scott looked up at Stiles with a slight smile. "Seriously Stiles, don't worry about it."

xxx

There were papers and photos covering the ground, stones holding them in place. Stiles was leaning over them on his knees, a notebook and pen in hand. He was struggling to find a pattern. There were two disappearances and an attack.

He picked up the attack report files, scanning over sections he had previously highlighted.

_Victim was attacked while walking an unmarked trail in Potsdam Reserve at 22:00 on the 15__th__ of June. Victim has limited recollection of what attacked them... growling and howling... Wounds are consistent with large wild animal... five long gashes to left thigh... five puncture wounds to right shoulder... Victim has since recovered from their injuries._

He scribbled down everything he thought was important or relevant then moved on to the disappearance reports. He looked down at the photos paper clipped to the files. Two young females smiled up at him, one brunette and one with red hair. They looked as if they were the same age as him. They looked so happy in the photos, their fate unbeknownst to them. If Stiles had to guess, he would say they're likely dead. He didn't want to believe it so he pushed the thought away, filing it in the darkest crevices in his mind along with his personal demons.

Stiles's head snapped up towards the sound of shoes scuffing in gravel, distant voices traveling on the wind. He could see two figures emerging from the overgrown trail that leads back to town. He didn't know who in their right mind- obviously not him- would be traveling into the forest with the sun fading, only an hour or so from dipping below the horizon.

He quickly gathered all the files and photos together, shoving them back into the folder. He rose to his feet, shuffling towards the Jeep with his eyes still on the silhouettes. They were masculine figures, strikingly similar. He shoved the folder under a few bags and closed the Jeep's hatch. He casually leaned against his vehicle, trying not to look too distressingly obvious.

As the distance between them closed, Stiles glanced back up at them. They both carried fishing rods leaning against their shoulders, one of them with a tackle box in hand. Stiles was relieved they were here just to simply fish, not to tear his throat out or something equally as terrible.

"Hey!" The one without the tackle box called, waving a hand at Stiles. "You from around here?"

Stiles looked from one to the other. They were brothers, twins. Not those half baked wannabe twins either. They were honest-to-god how-the-hell-can-people-tell-you-apart twins. Stiles opened his mouth to talk, just to snap it shut again as he seemingly forgot every word in the English language.

"Guess not, name's Ethan." The slightly shorter one said. He pointed a finger towards his brother, "This is Aiden."

"Stiles," he replied pointing at himself, still recovering from his brain malfunction. Stiles noted that Ethan was wearing a navy blue striped shirt while Aiden was wearing a burgundy v-neck.

"Well we're just heading down to the lake for some fishing, you can tag along if you'd like," Ethan suggested. Aiden was grumpily looking towards the lake. Stiles wondered if he spoke, he was being awfully quiet. Too quiet almost, like the sketchy kind of quiet.

"Uh- yeah, sure. Why not?" Stiles was out here to investigate. He could get friendly with these boys, at least with Ethan, and see if they had any information. Also he wouldn't mind just sitting around by the lake until sunset. It's not like he had any other plans.

xxx

"I've heard you've had some strange attacks and disappearances around here?" Stiles asked casually, laying on the ground, hands folded behind his head.

Ethan and Aiden were both perched on a boulder, cast fishing poles in hand. "If you're staying out here alone, you'll be next," Aiden deadpanned, staring out at his fishing float bobbing in the still lake.

"I'll be next?" Stiles laughed nervously, pushing himself into a sitting position. "W-what do you mean?" This is the first time Aiden has spoken and Stiles wasn't exactly sure how to take it. The kid gave him weird vibes and he remained completely silent, until given the opportunity to indirectly threaten him.

"What he means is, if you're staying out here alone, you shouldn't. In fact, we're having a party tonight in our parents cabin a few miles out. You should come, you can stay there. It's safer than being out here in that shitty Jeep." Ethan reeled in his fishing line, pulling off the bait and securing the hook to the pole. "We've actually got to get going, need to prepare some things. Do you have something I can write directions on?"

Stiles got to his feet and nodded, heading off towards his Jeep. He wasn't sure if he should trust these two, but he also didn't know if he should trust these woods. He figured getting the directions was not a RSVP and he could skip out if he decided against going.

He pulled a piece of paper from his notebook and handed it to Ethan along with a pen. Ethan leaned on the hood of the Jeep and drew a crude map to his parent's cabin, complete with a compass and X marking the destination. Stiles folded the paper and put it in his pocket, waving at Ethan and Aiden as they disappeared into the sinking sun.

Stiles slid into the front seat of the Jeep, pulling out his cellphone. The screen indicated he had 5% battery left and should charge his phone. He grabbed his duffel bag and unzipped it, pulling out his charger. It then dawned on him that he had brought a wall charger, not his car charger. He groaned and shoved the wire back into the bag, zipping it up. He needed to call his dad to check in, so this had to be quick.

He dialed his dad's number and held the receiver up to his ear. After two rings he answered, "Sheriff Stilinski."

"Hey dad I just wanted to tell you that I'm fine and I brought my charger but it's a wall charger not a car charger and I need to talk really fast because my battery is going to die and I'm going to be home in a day or two don't worry about me I'll call when I can figure out how to harness photosynthetic energy from a tree or maybe I can make a solar panel out of scraps have a nice day lo-" The phone went dead. At least he had checked in a assured his father he was fine. That should keep him quiet for a bit.

Stiles drummed his fingers on his steering wheel trying to break the silence around him. He scanned his Jeep, looking for something to do. He had been sitting here for only five minutes before he starting getting antsy and bored. Truth was he had nothing to do and he didn't feel safe here. He probably wouldn't get any sleep, he'd just stare into the trees as the darkness transformed and morphed into images from his nightmares.

He decided he was going to that party tonight. He needed to be more social and do more things. What better way to be social than with complete strangers? They didn't know his story, his past, how many friends he didn't have or what freakish adventures he'd been pulled through this past year. He could be a new person, someone people liked and held with a higher regard than Stiles Stilinski of Beacon Hills. He didn't need to be the kid who lost his mom or the ridiculous one who nobody could take seriously.

He started up his Jeep, just to find out that it was only 8:30PM, two hours before said party began. Ethan had said it would take him about 45 minutes to get there. That would still make him over an hour early if he left now.

Stiles turned off his Jeep and lightly hit his head against the steering wheel. He sat up straight and stretched his arms over his head, hands instinctively resting on the back of his neck. He felt the rough surface of medical tape and remembered his injury. He felt around for the edge of the tape and slowly began to remove it, wincing as it pulled at fine hairs. He finally got it off and looked down at the bandage, there wasn't much blood. Only four dried blood spots, barely the size of a dime. He discarded the bandage and tentatively ran his fingers over his wounds. He dropped his hand and sighed, turning his Jeep back on. He could always drive around for a little while and showing up early wouldn't kill him.

xxx

This cabin was literally in the middle of no where. He'd drove down twists and turns of unmarked roads, following Ethan's map to the best of his abilities. Not only was it in the middle of no where, it was also pitch black. It felt as if he was shroud in infinite seas of shadows, his headlights the only thing cutting though it's thickness.

He finally pulled onto a dirt road, his headlights illuminating a swaying sign with a strange symbol on it. It was a blackened triangle, turned on it's side so it pointed to the right. A thick line extended from each point, elongating each side of the triangle. The lines then bent clockwise at a 60 degree angle following one side of the triangle, each with a short tail bending back counterclockwise.

Stiles continued down the road until his headlights flooded a small clearing with a decent sized wood cabin sitting towards the back of it. There were no other cars around but there was a thin strip of dim light shining through the drawn curtains of a window.

The radio read 10:00PM, he was only a half hour early. He drove extra slow to make up for leaving too early, but it didn't seem to help much. Stiles grabbed his keys and leapt out of his Jeep, heading for the cabin.

He knocked on the door and waited for a reply. When no one came to the door he leaned an ear towards it, trying to hear if anyone was inside. Silence. Stiles wasn't one for breaking the law (that's a complete lie) but he decided to see if the door was unlocked.

With a twist of the doorknob, the door swung easily open. There was a single lamp on, sitting on an end table beside a couch. "Hello?" He called, stepping over the threshold and swinging the door shut behind him. There was no reply and he was starting to sweat nervously. There was no reason to be panicky, they were probably in another room or something.

Stiles stepped around the sagging couch, heading towards one of the other rooms in the cabin. The door was slightly ajar so he knocked it open with his foot and peeked around. "Hello?" Again, no answer. He didn't bother investigating the room further and headed towards the only room he hadn't checked. The door was already open and the light was off. He huffed and turned back towards the front door where a figure stood, features shadowed by the night.

Stiles let out a surprised gasp, "holy sh-" his hand flew up to cover his rapidly beating heart. He took a deep breath and backed away. "Are you trying to force me into cardiac arrest?"

The figure stepped into into the dim light, flashing red eyes and baring sharp, elongated canines. Stiles's mind immediately registered the alpha before him as Aiden. The twins were werewolves. Aiden was an alpha, so Ethan had to be a beta and part of his pack. He wasn't a happy or friendly alpha either, apparently.

Stiles took a step back and held a shaking hand out towards Aiden. "You're behind the attacks and disappearances, aren't you? At least one of your betas are. You lured me here, why?!"

Aiden laughed humorlessly. "Betas? You have no clue what you've stumbled into, do you? Well that's fine, you're just bait anyway." He jumped over the couch, landing a few feet away from Stiles.

"Bait? B-Bait for what?" Stiles stammered, backing up against a wall. He was trapped, nowhere to go but around the snarling beast in front of him, and that wasn't going to happen. "I'm not very good bait, I don't smell good. I don't have a lot of meat on me and you know, I'm just not good bait."

"You really are clueless, aren't you?" Aiden grabbed Stiles by his shirt collar, dragging him towards the room Stiles had previously looked in, but not entered. "We want your alpha."

"My alpha? I-I think you're mistaken. I'm 100% homo sapient 100% of the time."

Aiden smirked down at Stiles who was desperately trying to cower away from his grip. "You see this?" Aiden asked, pointing at a trap door in the floor which had a heavy looking chain attached to the handle. "This is where you're going to stay for a bit, getting acquainted with the dark while we wait for your alpha to show up and save your ass, if he cares." Aiden pulled on the chain, the trap door lifting with a groan. He pulled Stiles towards the dark opening.

"Wait!" Stiles cried, scrambling away from the edge. "Who is my alpha?"

"Derek, you fool."

Aiden shoved him down the steep staircase and slammed the door shut, blocking out all light. The sound of chains rattling and scraping against the door ceased, foot steps receding from above. Stiles sat up on the dusty floor, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. He was hoping his eyes would somehow adjust to the darkness, but they didn't. He felt his way back to the stairs and climbed halfway up, feeling above him for the door. He finally found it and pushed against it with all he had. It didn't budge. After a few more failed attempts he made his way back down the stairs to sit on the bottom step.

He was fucked, literally and very royally, fucked. No one knew where he was. Scott and Isaac had known where he was prior, hopefully after they realize something went wrong his scent will still be traceable. He didn't know if they could trace him this far or even trace his scent when he had traveled by car.

Stiles was starting to panic. He could feel the swell of uneasiness rise in his chest, tightening and causing his breath to come in quick, shallow gasps. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. He was safer in here than out in the woods, right? Probably not. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip, he wiped his face on his shirt. He forced this thoughts elsewhere.

Stiles's mind traveled back to what Aiden had said. Derek was his alpha. How, by any means, was Derek Stiles's alpha? Yeah he'd try to help out the pack to the best of his abilities, but he was not part of it. He was the black sheep, the outcast among them. He was only useful for research and for getting information from the police, nothing more.

Stiles heard a low moan come from the other side of the darkened basement. At first he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but then he heard a stuttered intake of breath.

"Hello?" He whispered, searching the space with blind eyes. He heard a faint clink of metal hitting metal.

Stiles clambered to his knees, crawling over to find the wall to his right. He let his fingers lightly glide over it's rough surface as he slowly got to his feet and made his way forward. He turned when he sensed another wall in front of him, his hand still guiding him. He was close to whoever- or whatever- was with him in the basement. He could sense them a few feet away and could hear their shallow, ragged breathing. That's when it hit him, a thick putrid scent tinged with a metallic overtone. He gagged and pulled his shirt up over his nose, trying to breath solely through his mouth. He didn't like the sight of blood but the smell was so much worse.

He got on his knees and cautiously searched the ground in front of him, silently praying he didn't touch anything wet or gooey. His fingers brushed something soft and he instinctively drew back. He put his hand back out and began patting his discovery with his fingertips. Hair, he was touching hair. The hair was short and curled slightly around his fingers.

He sat back on his heels not sure what to do when he felt something sharp jab his buttocks. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out small square package. He nearly cried out in relief when he remembered that it was a book of matches. He quickly ripped out a match and struck it on the rough strip of the package. The match flared up and cast a flickering orange glow where he sat.

He held the match out towards the crumpled figure before him. The person was curled up on their side. Their clothes were ripped and filthy, stained with dried blood. Manacles were around both of their wrists, connected by chain. A thick metal collar ringed their neck, a chain connected to it and leadto a hook on the wall. Stiles leaned in closer to get a better look at their wounds. Their stomach was in shreds, jagged pieces of flesh dangling from gashes encrusted with blood and dirt. Stiles cringed and backed up slightly as the match flickered out. He felt light headed and extremely nauseous. He took a few deep breaths and lit another match. He leaned back in and moved the persons head carefully so he could see their face.

Their face wasn't in much better of a state than their stomach. They had a blackened, swollen eye and a few scratches. The half of their face laying against the ground was caked in dried blood and dirt. Stiles lightly tilted their head farther up and held the match closer. He realized with a sudden rush of fresh nausea who it was

It was Isaac.

**A/N: This took me awhile because I simply could have gone so many ways with this chapter. I also re-watched all of Teen Wolf in three days, so there's that. Sorry about the description of the symbol, I found it difficult to describe. It's just the alpha pack's symbol. Reviews would be lovely and fuel my fingers to type. **


	5. Chapter 5

***** SEASON 3 SPOILERS AHEAD *****

Stiles dropped the match to the floor beside him. He backed up a few inches and closed his eyes. He clutched his stomach and took a few deep breaths, willing his head to stop spinning.

He didn't know how long Isaac had been there, laying helplessly in a pool of his own blood. He could have been there the entire day while Stiles was enjoying his pizza burger or the warm sun by the serene lake. The thought of food sent violent waves of nausea coursing through him, causing his body to jerk and sway with dry heaves. Once they passed he composed himself, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. He scooted back to Isaac's side and tore another match from the book and lit it, holding it close to Isaac's face once more.

He lightly patted Isaac's cheek. "Isaac. Isaac come on." He paused, quickly wiping moisture from his eyes with trembling hands. "Isaac, open your damn eyes!" Isaac's skin was cool and clammy under Stiles's fingers. Stiles knew he had lost too much blood. There was blood everywhere, slowly soaking into the knees of Stiles's jeans as he knelt next to him in the rust colored pool surrounding Isaac's broken body. Isaac himself was a lost cause, painted red from top to bottom. A low moan escaped the boys lips and his eyelids fluttered.

"Isaac?" Stiles questioned, voice full of hope. The boy before him was once again silent and still. Stiles didn't know what to do. He had nothing to work with to try to help. He shouldn't need to help, Isaac was a werewolf, he should have already been healing. Even if these wounds were inflicted by an alpha. They looked hours old, most of the blood dried and clotted.

Stiles stood and made his way back to the staircase he had descended from. He held the match out in front of him, cupping his other hand around the flame so it wouldn't extinguish with his movement. There had to be a source of light somewhere, even if the owners were werewolves and could see decently in the dark.

He saw a faint light gleaming back at him from behind the staircase. He made his way around them, finding an old rusted oil lantern. He closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to no one in particular, hoping there would be fuel in it. He gently shook it, grinning to himself when he heard liquid sloshing about within. He lit the wick with his match, dropping it to the ground. Light flooded the room as the lantern's fuel began to ignite.

He hadn't realized how cramped the space actually was. If he had to guess, he would say it was about eight feet by eight feet, the staircase taking up most of the room. He quickly scanned the room for something useful- anything. The only other inanimate object in the room was a small rusted bucket in a far corner. The rest was completely barren, except for where Isaac was chained to the wall.

He went back to the young wolf's side, placing the lantern by his head. He carefully unhooked the chain leading from the metal collar around Isaac's neck to the wall. Stiles resumed his former kneeling position next to the boy, quickly unbuttoning his own shirt and placing it beside him. He peeled off his white t-shirt and ripped a thick strip off the bottom. He threw his discarded button-up back on, ignoring the fastenings.

He took the ripped t-shirt and carefully draped it over Isaac's midsection, deciding to leave the worst for last. He took the strip of fabric and gently started scrubbing dirt and caked on blood from Isaac's face. As he mechanically continued the process, he searched his mental "all things wolf" database for possible answers.

He recalled the time Derek was shot with a wolfsbane laced bullet. He had nearly died and his wound was prevented from healing. Stiles shuddered at the memory of almost having to cut the man's arm off. The only problem with that theory was the lack of a purple, ethereal glow he had witnessed from Derek's wound.

The only other thing he could come up with was mountain ash. He knew it contained supernatural beings within its barrier and he knew about the animal clinic being built with mountain ash treated materials. Deaton had said it would give werewolves trouble if they tried to wolf out there, whatever that meant. The alphas wouldn't be stupid enough to treat these walls with mountain ash. It would stall up their powers along with their prisoner, unless their prisoner was human. They would be closer to an equal match if that were the case, but he doubted it.

Stiles's eyes traveled to the metal collar and cuffs encircling Isaac's neck and wrists. They could be treated with mountain ash. Couldn't they? Forged and cured with this situation in mind, not only restraining their prisoners physically but supernaturally as well.

He lifted one of Isaac's arms carefully, inspecting the cuff closer. There were weird pattens embossed into the metal, forming symbols. He turned Isaac's palm up, the cuff was secured with metal bolts held in place with nuts. Stiles frantically tried to unscrew them, his fingers shaking and slipping a few times, sharp edges cutting into the soft pads of his fingers. He pulled away, letting Isaac's arm drop back to the floor. He quickly wiped his fingertips on his jeans, leaving a few drops of blood behind. He could feel warm tears running down his cheeks and dripping on to the floor, splattering within the drying crimson puddle.

It was all his fault, he had wanted to come here to help. Derek told him not to come, he must have known there was another pack nearby. Why couldn't he just listen for once? Stay on the sidelines where he belonged, let the right people take care of what was happening. Who was he kidding trying to come here on his own and take care of a case that clearly pointed to supernatural beings. Now Isaac was laying in front of him, carved open for the world to see, life slowly draining from his body. At least he wouldn't die alone, Stiles could make that much right. He carefully laid down next to Isaac, slowly tracing his thumb along the boys cheekbone.

"It's okay," he murmured quietly. "I'm here, it's all going to be okay."

xxx

A soft white glow doused the room in artificial lighting. Derek sat in a plain black, slightly uncomfortable armchair with a book open across his lap. It was titled: Clean: An unsanitized History of Washing. It was a weird book to have found in his loft, as it did have to do with the hygiene of Europeans during the Middle Ages. He wasn't interested in it at all, but he couldn't seem to fall asleep.

He hadn't seen anyone all day, not even Isaac. This was strange given the teen did live with him. He glanced over at the clock hanging on the wall, 11:54PM. He closed the book and threw it back on the coffee table, rising to his feet to fetch his cellphone. After trying Isaac's phone three times and getting nothing but the voice mail, he decided to try Scott.

"Do you even know what time it is?" A sleep roughed voice whined over the phone.

"11:57, is Isaac with you?"

"What? Isaac? No dude, I thought he'd be at yours."

"He hasn't been here all day, he was with you last."

"We went with Stiles last night. He bailed early this morning on us though. Figured he went home."

Derek's heart beat quickened, a horrible feeling creeping its way into his body. He didn't need to ask, but he did anyway. "Where?"

"I don't know man. Can I go back to bed now?"

"I asked you a question, Scott." Derek growled through the phone line.

"Some place up north, left him in Potsdam Reserve, I think."

"Left him?" Derek ground out between clenched teeth. "You just left Stiles in a forest somewhere? With no protection? Are you fucking dense?"

"I thought you were calling about Isaac anyway. I checked out the surrounding area, no weird scent or whatever."

"You are dense. There's another pack out that way, Scott. They're not a normal pack. They're an alpha pack, alphas can hide their scent." Derek grabbed his keys and threw on a jacket, heading outside.

"Shit..." Scott trailed off. Derek could hear the ruffling of blankets on the other end of the phone.

He quickly unlocked his Camaro and started it up. "I'm headed there now. Find Isaac then get both of your asses there."

"Dude how am I supposed to get there it's almo-"

"NOW!" Derek yelled, disconnecting the call and tossing his phone to the passenger seat.

Derek's grip on the steering wheel tightened. They weren't supposed to find out, the alpha pack was his to deal with. After all, it was him they wanted. Another alpha to add to their sick collection of twisted murdering beasts. It was oddly fitting. He was what they were, he was a beast. He had murdered. Even if it was to put someone out of their misery. He still had had the cold stare of glowing blue eyes. Just as Peter and Jackson had. They had all taken the life of an innocent. Peter was the only one who had malice behind his actions.

He should have made certain Stiles wasn't leaving the first time around. He should have told Scott there was trouble to be had where his best friend was heading. Why didn't he think of it sooner? It was completely his fault. If Stiles was hurt, he would never forgive himself. Stiles was human, as fragile as the translucent wings of an insect. He was flesh and blood and tissue, bones that couldn't mend as his own could. Stiles would be surrounded by alphas. Alphas that could force the bite upon him.

Derek would never admit it, but he admired how strong Stiles was. He had been put through so much in a short period. So many others would have broken down. Not Stiles, he powered head on. Took initiative and tried to help, tried to solve problems no one else seemed to consider important or even solvable. He was quite fond of Stiles in all reality, but he was too emotionally stunted to be anything but an asshole to him. Couldn't let him get too close, when someone gets too close that's when they can get inside. Lower their walls and the other tears everything inside, out. Tearing down tapestries, clawing at floorboards, ripping doors from their hinges and prying nails from the structure until nothing but a skeleton of what once was remains. Whether it's to use them as a pawn in their game of chess or something inevitable, such as injury or perhaps death. Derek didn't want to experience either again, he wouldn't allow it to happen again.

Xxx

Stiles was struggling to keep his eyes open. He was nearly lulled to sleep by his own soft murmurings of reassurances to Isaac along with the rhythmic petting motion of his hand. He didn't know how long he had laid there, perhaps an hour or longer. Isaac was still alive, his breathing still shallow and quick, face still pallor and clammy. He had opened his eyes a few times, pupils blown and glassy, to stare at Stiles. Stiles had tried to get a response out of him each time, but his stare was unfocused and short-lived before his eyes slid shut once more.

Stiles heard movement above him and sat up straight. Dust floated down around him as footsteps moved over him, then faded towards the door to the basement. He sat completely still, too terrified to actually think of something to do. There was nothing he could do, no way of protecting himself. He quickly grabbed the lantern and held it out in front of him, gripping it tightly in both hands. If he had to, he would set whoever was coming down on fire, using the lantern as a sort of molotov. The sound of heavy chains clanking and scraping against the door rang through the basement, then the groan of the old door opening.

Thin legs clad in tight jeans descended the steps, high heels clicking on each one Heavier steps followed down the stairs behind the first. Stiles's eyes laid fixed at the feet of the first to arrive, his heartbeat was racing and he couldn't calm his thoughts enough to think straight. He took a deep breath and looked up at his captors. A feeling of complete dread washed over his being. His breath caught in his throat. Ms. Morrell stood in front of him, her arms tucked across her chest and eyes hard, staring straight back into Stiles's. His guidance counselor, the one he told all of his troubles to. He told her things he wouldn't even admit to himself. She knew the innermost workings of Stiles's psych, for the most part. She was the one who he had talked to when his mother had died. The one who knew more than his own dad, and she was standing directly in front of him while Isaac was laying behind him dying. Yet she made no move to help him, there wasn't even a look of disgust or surprise on her face. She was working with this pack. Maybe she was part of it. He strongly doubted she was a werewolf, but he had no other explanation.

Stiles's eyes wandered to the man behind her. He was enormous, probably about six foot thre. Muscles bulged through the man's shirt. Stiles couldn't help but wonder if he had injected some super soldier serum into his system, like Captain America. He had a scowl etched on his face and his hands were fists at his sides. Derek and this guy would probably get along if the circumstances were different. They could arm wrestle and have grumpy faced stare offs.

Ms. Morrell side-stepped, allowing the hulking man behind her to step forward, closer to Stiles.

"This is Ennis," she gestured towards the man with a careless wave of her hand. "If you don't do as we say, he'll make you do it. Understand? No one has shown up for either of you yet, and we're getting a little impatient. So I'm going to ask you some questions. You're going to answer truthfully and quickly. If you lie, Ennis will deal with you. Understand?"

Stiles nodded slowly, eyes quickly shifting from Ennis back to his guidance counselor.

"Who is the alpha of your pack?" She quizzed.

"My pack? I-I don't have a pack."

"Last chance, who is the alpha of your pack?" With her repeat of the question, Ennis stepped forward and fixed his eyes on Stiles.

"Derek." Stiles spit out, terrified of what might happen to him if he didn't just say what they wanted to hear.

"Good. Where in Beacon Hills is your pack located?"

"Burnt out Hale house." Stiles knew the pack hadn't used that location in a long time. They had moved to the abandoned warehouse after everything. He wasn't even sure if hey were still using that as their headquarters.

Ms. Morrell nodded at Ennis who had grunted in response to Stiles. Before he knew what was happening he felt the dull thud of bone connecting with bone. Pain burst up through his cheek and across his jaw line as Ennis's knuckles collided with his jaw. Stiles's head snapped to the left with the force, causing him to nearly topple over on Isaac. Stiles quickly steadied himself before he dropped the lantern in his hands. He quickly placed it behind Isaac's body, so It couldn't get knocked over. He cupped his hand over the spot Ennis had just assaulted as he sat back up and looked towards Ms. Morrell. Her face was still blank, arms still tucked across her chest.

"Now the truth."

"I don't know, last I knew they used an abandoned warehouse. It stored busted up train cars."

"Do they know where Erica and Boyd are?"

"No, they took off. No one knows."

"Is Scott in Derek's pack?"

"No, he helps out when needed. He refuses to join his pack."

"Is Peter still around?"

"Yes."

"Where do they live, Peter and Derek?"

"I don't know."

Ms. Morrell nodded and looked to Ennis. "That's all we need, don't injure him too bad. His alpha wouldn't like that."

Ennis grunted and shuffled towards Stiles once more, his eyes flashing a deep crimson. He was a werewolf too. Not only a werewolf, but an alpha. Stiles wasn't sure how it was possible, for a single pack to have more than one alpha, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. Stiles backed away, his hands and feet scrambling on the dusty floor. He heard a low growling emanating from the wolf before him and stopped. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms in front of his face for protection.

He felt an iron grip around his wrists before Ennis wrenched his arms away, exposing his face. Stiles opened his eyes expecting to see a half transformed beast before him but the man was still completely human. Ennis dropped Stiles's arms and threw a punch that landed on Stiles's cheek. The force of the punch caused Stiles to hit the ground. He curled up into a ball, protecting his head the best he could. The man huffed in annoyance and started kicking Stiles in the side and stomach. Pain exploded and rolled through his body. He coughed and choked trying to catch his breath. He could taste the copper tang of blood fill his mouth. He spit it out, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand which came away bloody.

Ennis had disappeared up the stairs when Stiles heard the click of Ms. Morrell's heels approaching him. He tried to scoot away further, not trusting her motives. She quickly bent down and placed something cold and heavy in Stiles's hand. She turned on her heel and headed back up the stairs.

Stiles lay in the same place long after the scraping and rattling of chains signaled he was alone with Isaac again. The only thing running through his mind was how much pain he was in and how impossible it was going to be for them to get out of this prison.

Stiles groaned as he sat up, his hand pressing against his ribs like it would offer some sort of relief from the pain. He glanced at what had been placed in his hand. It was a wrench. Stiles threw it across the room. How in the hell was a wrench going to be any use to him? He was fairly sure werewolves didn't have a weird wrench phobia or anything. He scooted slowly back towards Isaac and laid a hand across his forehead.

"Issac, seriously man. You have to get up now. You have to heal yourself. You have to get us out of this fucking situation." Stiles bowed his head as tears filled his eyes. "Wake the fuck up!" Stiles knelt next to Isaac and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him as he yelled. "Wake up. WAKE UP!"

That's when it dawned on Stiles. The wrench, he was to use the wrench to loosen the bolts to free Isaac. He scurried to the other side of the room where he had thrown the wrench, ignoring the pain shooting through his side. He grabbed it and headed for Isaac, loosening the nuts on the cuffs first. He tore them off from Isaac's wrists and threw them far away, working towards the collar around his neck. He carefully slid the metal collar away from Isaac's next, discarding it along with the cuffs. He gently put the boy's head down and leaned against the wall beside him, watching and waiting.

**A/N: I would have had this up sooner but my internet went out and didn't get fixed until today. I honestly don't know why I did this to Isaac. I swore to myself I was going to be nice to him unlike the TW writers and just... it didn't work out. I feel bad and he needs some fluffy time... maybe. Reviews for Derek's perspective! ;D P.S. 60% of this won't make sense if you aren't up to date with the show. **


	6. Chapter 6

***** SEASON 3 SPOILERS AHEAD *****

A sign was illuminated by the Camaro's headlights. Etched into the thick rotting wood was: Potsdam Reserve. Derek drove recklessly down the wooded path beyond the sign. He arrived sooner than expected, pushing his Camaro to its limits and breaking many traffic laws. Thankfully it was extremely early in the morning and his infractions took place under the moon in the darkness of the night.

He rolled down his windows, breathing in the thick summer night's air searching for any trace of Stiles. If Stiles wasn't here, Derek knew where he'd be. The alphas would have taken him and thanks to Peter, Derek knew exactly where they kept their play toys.

Admittedly, Derek strongly disliked Peter. To the point where he'd only interact with him if it would benefit the pack. He was quite useful despite contrary belief. Peter's intelligent and focused, if he wants something he can get it. He's also extremely conniving and untrustworthy. He'll tear you to shreds in mere seconds if it means he benefits from it.

Derek slammed on the breaks as he drove into a clearing, the trees opening up before him. He threw his door open and headed towards the twinkling surface of a lake he spotted between the trunks. As he approached the tree line he picked up a familiar faded scent. Stiles had been here, this is where Scott had left him. Derek quickly scanned the clearing again hoping that maybe he had missed Stiles's Jeep the first time around. It was empty, as he knew it would be.

He stalked back to his car and grabbed his phone, dialing Scott's number. He drummed his fingers impatiently on his steering wheel as he waited for him to answer.

"Well?"

"I can't find Isaac."

"Of course you can't," Derek replied resting his forehead on the back of his hand.

"Dude, he's seriously gone. No one has seen him. Unless he went with Erica and Boyd."

"Can you stop calling me 'dude'? And no, he didn't. Nobody knows where they are."

"Maybe he does."

"Scott, trust me."

"Trust you?" Scott laughed. "Yeah, alright."

"Listen, I know where they are. The alpha pack has them. I know a few of their hideouts. I'll send you directions to the closest one, the one I'm heading to."

"Heading to? Derek you're insane. You don't know what you'll find there."

"Then you better start moving and get your ass here to help me." Derek lifted his head and closed his door.

"I've already left, I'll be there in 20 minutes, don't do anything stupid. That's my best friend in there. My human best friend. I know you don't like him much but he's like a brother to me. Don't let this feud with the alphas get in the way of protecting him."

Derek hung up and quickly typed in directions, sending them to Scott. He pulled a u-turn an sped back down the road he had emerged from. Had Scott already forgotten why Stiles was in this predicament in the first place? If he hadn't left Stiles completely defenseless and alone in the woods, Derek wouldn't be here right now. He wouldn't have a death grip on his steering wheel while trying to fight down the panic rising inside him. He took a sharp left turn out of the reserve and sped off towards a site that he hoped Stiles and Isaac were.

Xxx

Before Derek even pulled his Camaro on to the road leading to the alpha's potential location, he could smell Stiles's scent. There was a hint of something familiar but faded, he assumed it was Isaac. They both had been here recently, they had come this way. Stiles more recently than Isaac. Perhaps they weren't actually here, maybe they managed to get away. Maybe they haven't actually been here at all. Maybe it was all part of an elaborate trap to get Derek there. They could have stolen a piece of clothing from each of them and left him a trail. He tried not to think about the fact that Stiles's scent was too strong to just be from an article of clothing.

Derek knew he wouldn't be able to sneak up on whoever was waiting for him in the cabin with the loud roaring of his Camaro. He pulled over to the side of the road, just before the entrance to the location, leading into a dense forest. He killed the engine and got out, making his way towards the shadowy road. He immediately spotted a sign that bore the symbol of the alpha pack. This was no doubt their territory. Peter had been right, as he typically was. Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pushing down his ever-rising panic. Opening his eyes again, he took off down the uninviting trail, gravel crunching under his boots.

A few feet later he decided to walk off the path, within the cover of the trees. The soft underbrush also helped quiet his arrival.

A few minutes of walking and he could see dim lights glowing behind curtains. He paused and took a deep breath through his nose. The smell hit him like a brick wall, causing his stomach to churn. Various metals, the bitterness of salt, the stench of sweat and the smell of the earth around him. He could pick out traces of freshly spilled blood, although he could tell there was a significant amount of it that was hours old. The air was laced with something familiar- fear. He couldn't tell if it was his own fear or the fear of another. Derek began sprinting towards the glowing lights, no longer bothering to keep quiet.

Finally the trees broke into a small clearing. Derek immediately spotted Stiles's Jeep. Stiles was here, there was no doubt in his mind now. Derek focused on listening for heartbeats within the squat cabin before him. He counted six heartbeats. Two heartbeats were slower than the rest. One steady and strong, the other slightly weaker than it should be. This confused and worried Derek. Werewolves had a slightly higher heart rate than humans, he had expected one human and the rest wolves. However, he now had no idea who was in there and who's heart rate was weak, most likely from blood loss.

Derek ran full speed into the cabin, nearly knocking straight into a man he recognized from long ago. This was the animal who had turned his life upside down in the beginning. He had caused the first domino in the sequence to tumble-down. He had taken his first love away from him, intentionally or not. He was the reason Derek had had the cold steel glare of blue eyes before he became an alpha. Derek quickly locked the memories that had come flooding back away, he didn't have time to deal with them. Derek stepped back, surveying the room. He knew there were four wolves close by, but he only could see two of them. The man in front of him large, taller and broader than himself. Derek doubted he could handle himself in a fight against him. Next to him was a tall brunette with a tanned complexion. Derek noted she also looked familiar, but he couldn't place a name to her face.

She sauntered toward him, a smug confidence rolling off of her. Her bare feet lightly slapped against the wooden floorboards, causing Derek to glance down. He inwardly grimaced at her threateningly razor-sharp toenails and fixed his gaze back on her face. He stood up straight, chin high, trying to compete with her level of confidence.

She smirked at him, stopping to stand in front of him. "So nice of you to stop by, Derek. You probably don't remember us-"

"I remember him," Derek growled, nodding at the man now behind the brunette.

"Interrupting someone is rude, didn't your mother teach you any manners? Oh! Wait," she said holding a finger out. "She didn't get to that lesson before she burned, did she."

"Kali," the man interjected. "We were allied with Talia, she was a well-respected alpha-"

"Ennis," Kali hissed, lifting a hand to silence him. "Well now, you know that I'm Kali and he's Ennis. I figure, with you being such a smart boy, you already know what's going on." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Vaguely." Derek ground out, jaw clenched tight.

"For some reason Deucalion feels you'd be a useful addition to our pack. However, I highly doubt your ability to be a competent werewolf, let alone an alpha. Oh, by the way, where's the rest of your pack? Surely you didn't come alone." Kali smiled sinisterly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Beside the pretty orphan boy, of course. He's holding onto life somewhere." She nonchalantly waved a hand over her shoulder.

"I don't know"

"What's that?" She laughed, leaning towards Derek. "Big bad alpha Derek Hale doesn't know where his little pack of misfit teenagers are?"

"Where's Stiles?"

Kali grinned again, turning her back to Derek. "Boys!"

Two figures emerged from a room somewhere towards the back of the cabin.

"Ethan, Aiden. Bring them up."

xxx

Faint voices could be heard from the rooms above. Stiles couldn't quite make out who was talking or how many people there were. However, Isaac had his head tilted, an ear towards the ceiling his brows furrowed in concentration.

Since Stiles had removed the restraints from Isaac's wrists and neck, he had begun healing. The process was slower than Stiles was used to but Isaac had told him they were inflicted by an alpha, they would take longer to heal. Now as Isaac knelt before Stiles, he could see the gashes on his stomach were nearly closed. Isaac's skin was still pallor and covered in a slight sheen of sweat. When he spoke he sounded out of breath, but he'd improved. He was going to be fine, Stiles had saved him. Now they only needed to escape, or wait for back up.

"It's Derek," Isaac whispered. "There's four others up there."

Stiles scooted closer to Isaac. "Others? Who?"

"I don't know. I recognize one scent. From when I was attacked."

"Okay so, the bad guys. Derek's alone?"

Isaac nodded, still focused on listening to whatever was happening upstairs.

"Is he insane? Why would he come here alone! He could have gathered a small army or something. He could have at least brought Scott and his crazy uncle. That's it, we're all going to die. We're going to perish here, in these foreign lands because we have insufficient backup. Derek Alpha Hale has failed us. They'll probably skin us and make things out of our flesh. Like hunting troph-"

"SH!" Isaac cut Stiles off, swinging his hand out and clamping it over his mouth. "They're coming"

Stiles's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak. Isaac put a finger up to his lips as the sound of chains rattled against the door to the basement once more. Stiles shut his mouth and watched as Isaac got to his feet and crouched in front of him. His eyes glowed gold, nails and canines lengthening as he snarled at the rattling chains. The door flipped open, light spilling into every corner of the room. Two figures stalked down the stairs, eyes glowing red. Stiles could see the twin's faces by the glow of the still-burning oil lamp.

"Isaac," Stiles choked out, fear evident in his voice. "Stop, you can't take them both. You're hurt."

"Let's go, both of you." One of the boys ordered, Stiles didn't know which one.

Isaac let out a low growl before retracting his claws and standing up straight. Stiles scrambled to his feet beside him. The twins stepped forward, grabbing them both by an arm roughly and dragging them up the stairs.

The alpha's grip on Stiles was painful, guaranteed to leave bruises on his bicep. Stiles had tripped on one of the steps leading up, hit his shin against the other. His captor didn't stop or wait for him to get his footing, he just continued dragging him up the stairs.

Stiles's eyes glanced from his feet up towards the front of the cabin where he met pale green eyes staring back at him. Derek was standing tall, chin high and chest puffed. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Stiles could see veins bulging from Derek's neck as he strained against his rising temper. He looked absolutely pissed off. It looked as if someone had completely ruined his week by taking a bat to his Camaro and kicking his beloved puppy. Stiles was equal parts terrified and turned on by Derek at this point.

Stiles swallowed hard and glanced away. He knew Derek looked as if he could kill you with a single look but truth be told, the guy had an awful track record when it came to winning fights. Unless, of course, his opponent was already down and wounded or a freshly turned beta. He was standing off with four alphas, he had no chance. The only help he had been in the form of a broken beta and a damaged human. Let's face it, they were all going to be screwed in the next few moments. Not in the good way, either.

The woman standing in front of Derek turned to face Stiles and Isaac. Stiles immediately recognized her as the waitress from the diner he and Scott had eaten at earlier. She looked completely different now, she was no longer in a short yellow dress or wearing a charming smile on her lips.

She winked at him before turning back to Derek. "Here's the deal Hale." She spread her arms out in front of her as if showcasing a brilliant prize. "We want strong alphas, which you currently are not. Don't fret, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. An alpha can gain strength by slaughtering his or her pack, the betas." She paused, letting the words sink in.

Stiles's eyes shifted quickly over to Isaac who looked like he was about to puke. Stiles didn't blame him, unease was settling in his stomach as well. Stiles looked back towards Kali as she started speaking again.

"You're going to kill this weak little curly-haired pup for us tonight." She gestured a hand in Isaac's direction.

Derek opened his mouth as if it protest but Kali hushed him and continued.

"Then when Erica and Boyd come back into the picture, you will do the same. Then, of course, you will join us." Kali waved a hand towards herself, gesturing for Aiden to bring Isaac before Derek. Stiles felt his blood turn to ice. Derek wouldn't harm his pack. Right?

Stiles watched in horror as Isaac was forced to kneel before Derek. Kali quickly nodded at Derek before stepping in line beside him. Derek's eyes flared a deep scarlet as he fixed them on Isaac. Stiles took a deep breath, everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Derek's claws unsheathed and he bared his teeth, canines lengthened and dangerous. Stiles held his breath. Derek let out a low growl and crouched before Isaac, preparing to leap. Issac whimpered and hung his head, ready to take what was coming. Derek pulled his arm back, prepared to strike.

Suddenly something flew passed Stiles's head. Ethan, who was still holding on to Stiles, whipped his head around after the object. Stiles heard a faint thud before Ethan was shouting something in his ear. Ethan released Stiles and threw an arm over his eyes to shield them. Stiles watched him, confused, as he heard a loud pop from behind him. Blinding white light followed and Stiles blinked a few times, turning his head away from the light. White hot spots danced across his vision, disorienting him. He took a few steps forward and stumbled over something, falling to his knees. He could hear a faint crackling and smell a hint of smoke. He shook his head and blinked some more, looking back towards Derek.

Derek was lashing out at Kali, who was easily dodging every blow. Stiles noticed Isaac trying to fend off Aiden and Ethan, who were somehow mending together into one huge mass of muscle and rage. The man who had beat Stiles headed towards the open cabin door. Stiles flinched as the loud crack of gunshots sounded, leaving his ears ringing. The large beast howled and took off running out of Stiles's line of vision.

Stiles felt a wave of heat against his back. He turned to see flames slowly crawling their way up the walls and across the floor. He quickly stood up and ran out of the cabin, into the small clearing. He was waiting for gunshots to ring out or perhaps for Kali to grab his ankle and drag him back in. Instead he came face to face with Allison who had a compound bow gripped tightly in her hand. Stiles side-stepped around her and turned back towards the cabin. The fire was spreading quickly, fueled by the dry wooden walls. Stiles slowly backed up, still staring in front of him. Someone grabbed his arm, causing him to jump and pull his arm free.

"Get in your Jeep and go!" Scott yelled, pushing Stiles in the correct direction.

"Isaac," Stiles panted, looking up at Scott and pointing towards the cabin. "And Derek."

"I know, go!" Scott took off running, leaping over the threshold of the cabin and into the rising flames.

Stiles slowly started walking to his Jeep, stuffing his hand in his pocket for his keys. He quickly sorted through his keys, trying to find the correct one. His hands were shaking and he was distracted by everything that was going on. He quickly looked over his shoulder towards the flames. Kali straddled a mass on the ground, clawing and ripping at it. She was snarling as she tore into fabric and flesh. Finally Chris Argent emerged from the treeline, pistol raised level with Kali. He fired off a few shots and Kali fell backwards. She quickly scrambled to her feet and retreated into the forest. Stiles dropped his keys as he realized who Kali had been attacking. Derek and her were fighting the last time Stiles had seen either of them. He started walking towards Derek who had curled up on his side, his back facing Stiles. Stiles ran the last few feet and dropped to his knees, ignoring the painful scraping of stones and gravel at his knees. He tentatively place his hand on Derek's side, trying to pull him onto his back. Derek went rigid and let out a low growl, Stiles could feel it vibrating through his hand and up his arm. Stiles pulled again and Derek relented, letting him do as he pleased. Derek's shirt was in tatters, soaked through with blood.

"Fuck," Stiles whispered. "Fuck, fuck." Stiles's hands hovered over the alpha's chest, not sure what to do. He took a deep breath to calm himself before proceeding. Stiles placed his hands firmly over what gashes he could see in Derek's chest. His fingers slipped through sickly warm liquid as he tried to apply more pressure.

"You don't need to do that." A gruff voice came from behind, startling Stiles. He glanced up over his shoulder where Chris Argent was watching him.

Stiles nodded weakly and looked back down at Derek, removing his hands from Derek's chest and placing them face up in his lap. He knew wolves healed on their own, he wasn't entirely stupid. He was just terrified at the thought of more spilled blood, Isaac's had been enough for him. He just wanted to make sure Derek was going to be okay, and maybe feel like he had done something to aid.

Stiles stared at his hands, now painted crimson. People had been injured because of his thoughtless actions. He had dragged everyone into this big mess of alphas. He lured Derek into the trap of his enemies, purely by his own selfish actions. Stiles was vaguely aware that he was being pulled to his feet and steered to his Jeep. He dragged his feet along the gravel until he was let go. Someone grabbed his hand and put his keys into his blood covered palm.

"Stiles," Scott snapped his fingers in front of Stiles's eyes. "Are you okay to drive? You can take Isaac back with you and I'll take Derek in his car."

"No," Stiles protested. "I mean yes I'm okay to drive but I'll take Derek, he won't be happy with blood on his seats." Stiles glanced over to where Derek was still lying on the ground, Isaac now squatting beside him.

"Oh," Scott gave Stiles a puzzled look. "Okay, well I'll text you his address. I don't know if you know where he's moved to."

"Phone's dead" Stiles said, still gazing in Derek's direction.

"Okay, I'll text them to Derek. He should be able to point you in the right direction, though."

Stiles nodded and searched through his keys, finding the correct one and unlocking the door after a few tries. He slid in the driver's seat and started it up. A few moments later Scott and Isaac were helping Derek into the passenger seat.

"Hurry up and get out of here, I can hear sirens already." Scott said, handing Derek his phone.

Derek grunted when Scott slammed his door shut and he let his head fall against the glass of the window. Stiles looked over at him before heading back down the road that had lead to this hell.

**A/N: Next chapter is going to have fluffy things. I promise. **


	7. Chapter 7

*****SEASON 3 SPOILERS AHEAD*****

Stiles put the Jeep in park outside of the building Derek had lead him to. The drive home was long and filled with silence. The only time either of them had spoken was when they entered Beacon Hills again, and Stiles needed directions to where Derek was living.

Stiles stared out the windshield as Derek slid out from his seat.

"Where are you going to stay tonight?

"What?" Sties questioned, focusing his eyes over to where Derek was leaning on the passenger side door, shirt still torn and bloody.

"You can't go home."

"I can't- what? Why?"

"For starters you're covered in blood." Derek pointed out, nodding towards Stiles's clothing.

Stiles looked down at his hands gripping the steering wheel, then down at his already bruising torso and blood soaked jeans.

"Oh." Stiles raised his head and continued starring out the windshield once more.

Derek sighed and shut the door a little harder then necessary, rounding the Jeep to Stiles's side. He pulled open the door and stepped to the side, allowing room for Stiles to get by.

"Out." He ordered, pointing behind him. Stiles killed the engine and removed his keys, stepping out passed Derek. Derek closed the door and turned on his heels, stalking towards the building they parked near.

Stiles threw himself into a plain armchair, wincing at the pain that shot through his body. Derek stood beside him, frowning.

"You need to get cleaned up. You're leaving filth everywhere."

Stiles ignored him and sunk further into the chair, closing his eyes. "Do you have anything?"

"You can wear something of mine and yes I have a shower, don't even start."

"For the pain."

Derek paused, mentally scolding himself for not considering what pain Stiles might be in. "No, I don't really have a use for painkillers. You know, with the healing thing."

"Perks of being a werewolf." Stiles said humorlessly. "Get me something, would you? Something strong, preferably."

Stiles heard Derek's footsteps walking away from him, then the soft click of a door closing. A few seconds later he heard the faint sounds of a shower running. He concentrated on the fluctuation of sounds from the running water. How it softened when Derek was under the spray, the water running down his body before hitting the floor and circling the drain. Or the pounding of droplets on the floor when Derek moved out from under it.

A few minutes later he heard the shower turn off and Derek walking back towards him. He could feel the moisture rolling off his body and smell the clean scent of soap tinged with the filth from his own clothes. Stiles opened his eyes sensing Derek standing before him, starring. He was fully dressed in a gray v-neck and black jeans.

Derek held his hand out to Stiles, palm up. "Keys." Stiles gave him a confused look before digging his keys out of his pocket and dropping them in his open hand. "Don't touch anything while I'm gone. Unless it's the shower." Derek turned and disappeared through the loft's entrance.

Stiles was exhausted, mentally and physically. He felt disgusting sitting there, blood and dirt covering most of his clothes and body. He knew he should get up and shower but his body was sore and his head ached. He slowly sat up and removed his unbuttoned shirt, revealing dusky purple and red bruising over his ribs and other various locations.

He sighed and gently rose to his feet. He decided to find Derek's bedroom and his closet so he could shower. He wandered over to a closed door and opened it, revealing a pitch-black room. He stepped in a groped the wall, his fingers brushing over the light switch. He flicked it and bright white light flooded the room from above. There was a big, fluffy bed in the middle of the room draped in a black comforter. His eyes traveled over dull gray walls. One had floor to ceiling doors in the center, covered in newspaper. He squinted at the paper, realizing it wasn't there for looks. It was to cover up the mirrors on the doors.

He slid a door open to find an extremely neat closet. Who would have known Derek was such a neat freak, when he used to live in a pile of ash? There was nothing but dull colors. Gray, white, black and some off-whites. There were maybe 4 colored shirts throughout the others. Stiles slid the door shut again, looking back toward the bed. It looked extremely inviting and comfortable. He yawned and pulled the comforter off the bed, pulling it onto the floor. If he was going to sleep without showering, he'd at least not dirty Derek's bed.

Stiles left the door open a crack and shut off the light. He stumbled back to where he left the comforter and wrapped himself up in it, curling into a ball on the floor and almost instantly drifting off to sleep.

xxx

Derek roamed through the aisles of a local 24-hour gas station contemplating what to get Stiles. When it came to medication, Derek didn't have the slightest idea which was best for what pain. He also didn't know what Stiles preferred. He picked up a few different kinds, from extra-strength generic acetaminophen to anti-inflammatories and fever reducers. He threw them in to the basket he was carrying and moved on to the bandages and ointments. He tossed a few rolls of gauze into the basket along with medical tape, normal band-aids and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

He had noticed Stiles's visible injuries during the car ride home. He kept sneaking glances at the boy's solemn face. He could see blood pooling under his skin in various spots, bruises forming. He noticed his split lip and the blood soaked bandage wrapped around his hand. He knew he probably had more hidden injuries. Derek had wanted to ask but he stopped himself. He didn't want to bother Stiles after all that had happened.

Derek turned down the snack aisle, looking for something decent to feed Stiles. He didn't even know what he liked or if he had any food allergies. Derek was hit with the realization that he barely knew Stiles. They may have been in life threatening situations together and even have saved each other, but they were practically strangers. Derek didn't want to be strangers, he wanted more. More then just ending up as forces allies through mutual enemies. More than Stiles just being a friend to members of his pack.

Derek pulled down a bag of chips from the shelf, placing it in the basket. He also picked up a few boxes of macaroni and cheese, hoping that Stiles wasn't lactose intolerant. That would be his luck. He headed towards the checkout where a pretty brunette was seated, carefully rearranging a display of lighters. Derek put his items on the counter and put on a fake smile when the lady looked up at him flashing her own.

She started scanning his items, placing them in bags. "Interesting combination for this time of night."

Derek shrugged looking down at her name tag, then back to her face. "Well Julia, I like to keep my victims alive for as long as possible. I'd rather they didn't die of infection before I've had my fun. Also, torture works up an appetite, you know?"

Julia dropped the box of macaroni and cheese she was putting in a bag. She gaped at Derek before quickly recovering her features. She laughed and picked up the box, placing it in the bag. "I like you. That was a good answer, out of the ordinary. Your total is 69.90."

Derek frowned and dug into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He pulled out a 50 dollar bill and a 20, throwing them down on the counter. Julia ripped off his receipt, scribbling something on the back before shoving it in a bag. She smiled up at him as he grabbed his bags.

"Keep the change," he said grabbing his last bag and heading towards the exit. He heard her giggle as the door shut behind him.

Xxx

A loud banging filled the room. Stiles's eyes flew open but he couldn't see anything. He sat up, holding his hand in front of his face. The room was completely black, or he had gone blind. He wiggled his fingers as if that would somehow help him see. The banging stopped. Stiles stood up reaching his hands out in front of him searching for the light switch. After a few seconds he found it and clicked it on. A dim light flooded the room, unveiling an unknown bedroom. His mind began to race, searching for answers. He was no longer in Derek's bedroom, he had never been in this room before. There was a small single bed pushed up against a wall with a darkened window just above it. Piles of books were stacked haphazardly in every corner. The walls were painted a creamy yellow color and were bare. Stiles walked to the center of the small room and turned in a circle, consuming his surroundings.

There was something off about the room, but he couldn't place it. Stiles noticed a picture frame propped on one of the book stacks. He walked over and picked it up. Isaac stood squinting towards the camera with a smile on his face. Next to him stood a taller man in military fatigues who had a matching grin. Stiles furrowed his brows in confusion. Even if he did somehow manage to forget leaving Derek's place, being here wasn't possible. He figured he was in Isaac's old room. This house was being sold. Isaac had come back for his belongings and Stiles didn't think he'd leave this picture behind if it was special enough to be framed and on display.

Suddenly the banging started again, louder than before, causing Stiles to drop the frame. The glass shattered on the hardwood floor and Stiles took a step back. The pounding was coming from the door, someone wanted to get it or wanted him to get out.

"Open the door!" A voice yelled, muffled by the wood separating them. The voice was vaguely familiar, but Stiles was too panicked to think about it for long. They didn't sound happy and he didn't know what they wanted. He needed to get out, he needed to figure out what was going on. "I know you're in there kid, don't make me bust this door down."

Stiles jumped onto the bed, throwing aside the curtains blocking the window. His hands slid against the glass as he tried pushing the window open. It wouldn't budge. He felt along the top of it, looking for a lock. There wasn't one. He sat back and looked around the window, maybe it was painted shut. Along the bottom of the window were nails, forcing the window and sill together.

Stiles got off the bed and quietly ran towards the light switch turning it off, plunging the room in complete darkness again. He ran back over to where he remembered the bed being and scooted himself under it. His heart was racing and sweat dripped down his back. His palms slipped on the hardwood floor as he tried to prop himself up.

The banging stopped again. Silence ringed in Stiles's ears. With a thud the door flew open, sending a blast of air under the bed. A faint light spilled in from the now open door. A shadowy figure stepped into the room. Stiles watched as heavy work boots thumped against the floor, approaching the bed where he hide. He took a deep breath as the figure dropped to it's knees, bending over so his head peeked under the bed.

"Did you really think this bed would help you?" The man laughed, reaching a hand towards Stiles. He grabbed his wrist and Stiles whimpered, pulling his arm away and backing away further. "Okay, that's fine. You're going to have to come out some time, though." The man stood and sat on the bed.

Stiles clenched his eyes closed and tried to slow his breathing. The air was too thick for him to breathe. The dust under the bed was getting in his throat, causing him to cough.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Stiles slowly crawled out from under the bed, trying to stay as far from the man as possible. It was still too dark to see who he was, but he wasn't currently ripping his throat out. That had to count for something. He began to stand up but stumbled slightly, feeling light headed. The man grabbed his arm. Stiles stumbled backwards, falling over a pile of books.

"D-don't touch me."

"Okay, okay. Are you okay? You look like you're about to get sick."

Stiles closed his eyes and shook his head, still trying to slow his breathing. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his fingers tingling. Tears began rolling down his cheeks. He was overreacting, he knew it. He was trying to calm down, trying to stop. He wasn't in immediate danger yet he felt like he was being stared down by a vicious creature, one from his nightmares. Could he be dreaming? Everything felt so real, he couldn't tell the difference.

He heard the man get up from the bed and leave the room. He stayed on the floor leaning up against a wall with his eyes closed. He was having trouble thinking, he just needed to understand what was happening. He heard footsteps and could sense bright lights through his closed eyelids. Hands were on his biceps, shaking him slightly.

"No!" He said, pushing them back and opening his eyes. He squinted his eyes against the too bright lights, blinking a few times. The figure he had pushed was kneeling a foot or so away from him, scowling at him. He looked around the room, the walls were gray again. He was back in Derek's room. He hadn't moved, he knew he hadn't this time.

"W-wait," Stiles started, breathing becoming erratic once more. "I was- this isn't- how-" his voice broke off as his eyes focused on the figure he had pushed back. It was Derek.

"Stiles," Derek began. "You need to calm down and tell me what happened. Peter told me he just found you hiding under the bed, then this," he waved his hand towards Stiles.

Stiles looked up at Derek. "I wasn't- I don't- I can't breathe." Stiles leaned back, resting his on the wall behind him and closed his eyes.

"Actually, you can. If you couldn't breathe, you wouldn't be speaking."

Stiles's eyes flew open, looking in the direction of the voice. Peter was standing just outside of the doorway, a satisfied look on his face. Derek got to his feet, swinging the door shut in Peter's face. And returning to kneel in front of Stiles.

"I- I need to go. I need to get out." Stiles said bracing himself against the wall, pushing himself up to his feet.

"No you don't."

Stiles swayed slightly and Derek grabbed Stiles's forearm. Stiles ripped his arm from Derek's grasp. "Don't."

"Okay." Derek said, standing up and putting his hands out in front of him. "Stiles, what is going on?"

"It's too small in here."

Derek quickly looked around. "_Small_? That is a California king sized bed. This room is not small."

Stiles started pacing the room, wringing his trembling hands in front of him. Derek followed his frantic steps with his eyes.

"Okay, where do you want to go."

Stiles stopped and looked at Derek, then at the door. "Not out there."

"Because of Peter? I can make him leave." Derek swung open the door and stepped out, closing it behind him.

Stiles sat down on the bed, trying to slow his breathing. A few minutes later Derek comes back into the room, taking a seat next to him.

"You need a shower." Derek remarks, scrunching his nose.

Stiles nods. "I need clothes."

"I'll get you something, just go take a shower. You smell horrible. It's the door across from this one."

Stiles gets up and heads out of the room, Derek following behind him.

He opens the bathroom door and steps in, hesitating before he closes the door.

"Can I leave the door open?" Stiles asks quietly.

Derek nods walking off towards the kitchenette. Stiles waits until Derek can't see into the bathroom and turns on the shower, making it colder than he would like. However his skin felt as if it were ablaze and he wanted it to stop. He quickly undressed, leaving his dirty clothes on the floor. He unwrapped the dirty blood soaked bandage from his hand, tossing it into a garbage bin. He stepped into the shower and slid the frosted glass door shut. He shivered as he stepped under the cool shower spray. He felt better already, his mind starting to clear. He grabbed a bottle labeled "body wash" and squirted some of the liquid in his palm. He began scrubbing his hands together, cleansing himself of what had happened tonight. Derek's blood, Stiles's sweat, dirt and body wash turned the water at his feet a darkened russet color. Stiles absently scrubbed at the rest of his body, clearing his mind of everything.

xxx

Stiles walked out from Derek's room, moisture still clinging to his hair. He was dressed in a too large gray t-shirt and soft black cotton pajama bottoms. They kept falling down, riding low on his hips revealing the waistband of the boxer briefs Derek had assured him were brand new. He tried to untie the knot in the drawstring of the pants to tighten them, but his hand ached and he gave up.

He padded over to an over stuffed couch and threw himself down on it. He was exhausted and his body ached, he just wanted to finally fall asleep. He closed his eyes and sighed, sinking further into the lumpy cushions. Stiles heard Derek in the kitchenette, placing bowls or plates down, scraping out a pan of who knows what.

Footsteps approached and he cracked an eye open, Derek was placing a steaming bowl on the coffee table in front of him. Derek sat down in a chair to the right of Stiles with his own bowl.

"Eat." Derek ordered, shoving a fork full of macaroni and cheese into his own mouth.

Stiles groaned and sat up. He picked up his bowl and absently stirred the contents. "I appreciate this whole mac and cheese thing but I'm really not hungry."

Derek nodded taking another bite of his food. He stood, holding his hand out for Stiles's bowl. Stiles held out the bowl with a weak smile on his face and Derek took it, walking off towards the kitchenette again.

A few seconds later he returned with a plastic bag and a water bottle, placing them both in front of Stiles.

"For the pain," he said sitting down again.

"Oh," Stiles said grabbing the bag and dumping it's contents on the table. Various boxes of medicine fell out along with bandages, rubbing alcohol and medical tape. Stiles looked back up a Derek, a confused look on his face.

"I didn't know what to get," Derek shrugged.

Stiles picked up a box and read it aloud, "Junior Acetaminophen Grape Melts." He looked back over to Derek. "_Junior. Grape. Melts._"

Derek shrugged looking down at his hands. "I've never needed to take anything, I didn't know. I just picked up what I thought might help you."

Stiles couldn't help the grin on his face. Derek was being adorable and trying to help. Who would've known grape melts could mean so much? Stiles picked up another box labeled 'Tylenol Extra Strength' and ripped it open, removing the bottle. He opened the bottle and shook out four white pills. He threw them in his mouth and took a drink from his water bottle.

He noticed Derek staring at him, "What?"

"That's all?" He questioned, looking back at the various boxes spread out on the table.

"Well, yeah."

Derek nodded rising from his seat and going to sit to the left of Stiles. He grabbed Stiles's injured hand, pulling it onto his lap. Stiles stared at his own hand resting on Derek's thigh. He could only think about how his hand was on Derek Hale's thigh and how warm Derek was through his rough jeans. Derek gently dabbed at Stiles's wounds with gauze soaked in rubbing alcohol. Stiles's hand felt oddly cold for a moment, then his wounds started stinging.

"Holy fucking-" Stiles said, biting his lip and tearing his hand away. "That shit burns!" He started shaking his hand around and blowing on it, trying to stop the stinging.

Derek starred at him incredulously. "Will you stop flailing like a child."

Stiles tentatively placed his hand back on Derek's thigh. "No more of Satan's piss, alright?"

Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed a roll of gauze, wrapping it carefully around Stiles's hand. He secured it in place with tape, letting Stiles's hand drop into his lap. "How did that happen, anyway?"

"Um-" Stiles started, pulling his hand to his chest and cradling it. "Isaac."

Derek noticeably tensed. "Isaac hurt you?"

"It wasn't on purpose, I don't think." Stiles said, looking away. "He was having a nightmare or something and I woke him. He also did this." Stiles turned his back to Derek. Stiles felt Derek pull the collar of his shirt down slightly then release it. He turned back around, Derek's face unreadable.

"What about your captors? Did they hurt you?"

Sties nodded slowly lifting his shirt. Purple and blackening bruises were scattered over his ribs, a few larger ones on his stomach and side. Derek's fingers ghosted over them his brows knitted together.

"Shit Stiles," he whispered sitting back. "Do you want ice or something for that?"

Stiles shook his head letting his shirt fall back down. "About my captors," Stiles started, fidgeting with the hem of his borrowed shirt. "You knew them, they knew your mother. Who are they?"

Derek closed his eyes, bowing his head slightly. "They're trouble."

"Really? I don't think I noticed, they were really quite lovely to me."

Derek turned his head, eyes burning into Stiles.

"Sorry," Stiles muttered.

"My mother was a powerful alpha, she was working on a peace treaty between hunters and werewolves. Many packs came to Beacon Hills for this treaty. Ennis and Kali's packs were there."

"Wait, a peace treaty between werewolves and hunters? Isn't that contradictory?"

Derek shrugged and continued. "Doesn't matter, it didn't happen."

"What did happen?"

"Betrayal."

Stiles tilted his head, considering Derek's words. "Okay, you said you recognized Ennis, not Kali. Did you know him personally?"

"Something like that."

Stiles looked at Derek expectantly and Derek sighed. "What happened in that basement, Stiles?"

Stiles looked away. He didn't want to relive what he had seen. He didn't want to imagine Isaac's broken body before him again. "Well, Isaac was chained up, torn apart. There was blood everywhere. I didn't even recognize him at first. There was so much bruising, blood and dirt on his face. He wasn't healing, I didn't know what to do. I accepted that he might die right there and that I was useless. I wasn't going to let him die alone. No one should have to do that." Stiles closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts, his eyes were starting to burn with tears. "I- um- just laid with him until Ms. Morell and Ennis came down, asked me questions about you and the pack. Ennis used me as a punching bag and Ms. Morell handed me a wrench. I removed Isaac's restraints and he started to heal. I think they were treated with Mountain Ash or something." Stiles wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. "Now tell me about Ennis."

Derek ran his hand down his face and took a deep breath. "I was in high school when they came, the packs. I had just met and started dating this girl, Paige. Peter convinced me to let Ennis give her the bite. At the last moment I tried to stop him, but it was too late." Derek's hands were clenched into fists in his lap, veins bulging from his arms.

"She didn't agree to it?" Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head.

"I'm assuming she was pretty pissed off at you for turning her furry."

"I killed her." Derek ground out, his voice breaking on the last word.

Stiles's eyes widened. He went over what Derek had said in his head, thinking he heard him wrong. "You-"

"She was rejecting the bite, it was a mercy kill. She was in pain, Stiles. Excruciating pain. It was all my fault, I needed to fix it the best I could." Derek dropped his head into his hands.

Stiles felt horrible for bringing up the subject. "Shit." He whispered, looking down at his hands.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Derek got to his feet. "You should probably get some sleep. You can have my bed, I'll take the couch."

Stiles looks up at Derek, "But it's a California king sized bed, remember? _It's not small_."

Derek quirked an eyebrow at Stiles. "I am not sharing a bed with you."

"Why not? It's not like we have to cuddle. Unless you're one of those people who cuddles in their sleep. That would be interesting."

"I'll bet money _you're_ one of those people."

"Nope, not at all. We can even make a pillow barrier if it makes you feel better."

"Why do you want to share my bed?"

Stiles couldn't just outright tell Derek he didn't want to sleep alone. That he thought sleeping with someone nearby comforted him, helped keep his nightmares at bay. He also couldn't just tell him that he liked Derek. He would probably be creeped out and make Stiles go home. Stiles didn't want to go home, not yet. "I don't want to make you sleep on the couch but I sure as hell don't want to sleep here."

Derek sighed rolling his eyes and walking towards his bedroom. "Okay."

Stiles grinned to himself and followed Derek.

Once in the room Derek turned his back to Stiles, removing his shirt. Stiles starred at Derek's muscles rippling and flexing as he maneuvered the shirt over his head and threw it on the floor. Stiles unwillingly peeled his eyes from Derek, removing his own shirt and crawling onto the right side of the bed.

Derek slid his closet door open, rummaging through it. He pulled out two clean blankets, throwing them on the bed. He also pulled out a pair of sweatpants, closing the door once again. Derek unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them down over his hips and legs, kicking them off as they hit the ground. Stiles quickly averted his eyes. There was no way he was going to allow himself to be turned on by this, especially right before sleeping in the same bed as the guy. Stiles heard a click and the room dove into shadows, the only light coming from the opened door.

Stiles felt the bed dip as Derek climbed in the opposite side. Stiles pulled one of the blankets up to his chest, laying on his side facing Derek.

"If so much as a finger comes onto my side of the bed, I'm tearing it off. With my teeth." Derek stated, laying on his back.

Stiles closed his eyes, sinking further into the fluffy pillows. "Okay"

"If you snore, I'm leaving."

"Okay," Stiles sighed, sleep overtaking him.

**A/N: I never realized how hard it is to NOT torture / hurt characters. Sorry this took forever. **


End file.
